


Polly and Digory Return

by Glenstorm63



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen, dorset
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2018-08-19 02:29:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8185781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glenstorm63/pseuds/Glenstorm63
Summary: Miss Plummer has a strong feeling about Narnia and comes down from London to Dorset to visit Professor Kirke. This occurs shortly after the Pevensie's return from The Golden Age. So she gets more than she bargained for. They all do. (A work in progress).





	1. The Telegram

**Author's Note:**

> We never hear about how and when the Pevensie Children are connected up with Polly Plummer.
> 
> Will there be a task in Narnia for Polly and Digory?
> 
> I have not managed to complete more chapters than 12. More are being shaped but it is a long haul and other demands in life are in front of me. One day soon (it is currently mid December 2017 when I write this note), I will find the time and motivation to complete this story. Thanks for the kudos and reviews!

...

Ivy

There was a knock on the oaken door.

"Yes... Come in!"

Ivy's dark bob poked round the study door, her sharp white collar standing out against the simple black of her dress.

The Professor was behind his desk holding forth with two of the children.

Susan was sitting on the chaise sipping a hot drink of Bushells coffee and chicory from a jade glass mug.

Her hand was still raised in an expressive gesture and her chin tilted in a way that made Ivy think she was putting on airs. And her hair! Her raven hair was out of its staid plaits. Susan had a braid arranged around her head like a coronet and her long dark ringlets bundled fetchingly. It reminded Ivy of something she had seen on Ancient Greece in the house library. But on a twelve year old? Her brother Peter had just been using the poker on the fire. He stood up and inclined his head to Ivy and smiled like a debonair gentleman but he held the poker like a sword!

These children had been like insecure, blundering frightened chickens one day and the next they were well mannered, helpful and charming, but poised and... well... alarming. They suddenly behaved like they had gone to finishing school for Shakespearean actors. They projected their voices, and used measured tones. They also used fancy archaic language. Sometimes Betty and Ivy couldn't quite understand them. Their speech was scattered with expressions such as "prithee", "fair sister", "mayhap" and "methinks". They made Ivy nervous.

"S-s-s-s-cuse me sir, but there's a wire arrived from London. The telegram boy just got here."

"It's from your old friend Miss Plummer," she added coyly, her eyes rolling slightly with innuendo.

Ivy noticed meaningful glances between Peter and Susan and the Professor. Was that a brief look of triumph on Susan's face and glee on Peter's, quickly masked?

Without being asked, Peter strode forward with a blank expression took the telegraph from Ivy's surprised hands, and smartly handed it to the Professor.

The professor said: "Thank you Ivy, that will be all. Ah, one moment. If you could possibly locate the younger Miss and Master Pevensie and ask them to attend on us in here as soon as may be, we would be very grateful. And perhaps another pot of the Coffee and Chicory and another of Cocoa, enough for another round for us all. I think we'll be at this for some time".

"Alright sir, anything else sir?"

It was Peter who spoke this time.

"Please provide our compliments to Margaret on those delicious ginger snaps she kindly provided earlier. I'm afraid we really have polished the others off. Now we are growing children again it's to be expected I suppose. But they are so reminiscent of the flavours of the South we indulged in years ago and are helping us remember a lot of things we need to talk about. Could we prevail upon the kitchen to bring us another plateful? We really shall be deeply in your debt."

Ivy's eyes boggled with questions about those particular cryptic statements.

When she fumbled for words, the Professor said "Just do your best Ivy."

"Alright sir. Just something I wanted to ask. The telegram boy has pedalled all the way out here and he's rather tired. We wondered if we might give him a hot drink and a biscuit too. He says he's one of the last with pedals. Next time he hopes it might be a Bantam Motorbike!" she added with some excitement.

"Of course Ivy. Is that all now?"

"Yes sir."

"Thank you!"

Ivy turned and fled.

...

Digory

Miss Plummer? They had just been composing a telegram to Polly Plummer at the very moment Ivy popped her head in the door!

Susan and Peter waited patiently for the Professor to gather himself and read the telegram. He read it out loud.

"Digs coming down blitz continues StJames a mess need break stop George & Elizabeth out meeting people just like Frank and Helen stop Strong feeling about you know where stop Wonderful and sad something happening sure of it stop Friday train three fifteen Polly stop"

Susan and Peter both gasped and went down on bended knee in unison facing the fire silently staring into the flames. No need for their telegram to Miss Plummer now.

Polly's yellow telegram was held in Professor Kirk's trembling hand whilst he considered recent events.

It was Thursday, three days since the children had tumbled back out of the wardrobe and nearly three weeks since they had first arrived.

First there had been the concern about young Lucy talking about a snowy forest in the Narnian Applewood wardrobe, then suddenly the lot of them were claiming they had all stayed there and actually RULED Narnia for years and years, become grown up and then returned an instant after they left, back in children's bodies. It was all logical really. The evidence was in front of his eyes. Now this!

Polly was already on her way. Usually the practical one, her intuition was clearly in full swing these days. Aslan was on the move.

Digory had almost wired Polly when the wild stories about the snowy wood surfaced. He had needed her advice then. Logic told him it could only be true, but he had held back to see what happened next. Well, no doubt about it, she would certainly learn a thing or two when she arrived now. Things had developed far beyond what he could have dreamed was possible. That Wardrobe was clearly an immeasurable treasure.

In Professor Kirk's humble opinion, the four children were almost unrecognizable, at least in demeanour. The sense of loss and dislocation they had radiated upon arrival from London was similar, but they no longer were four vulnerable children teetering in the unknown, clutching at each other uncertainly. Their manners of speech were now extraordinary. They genuinely relied upon and trusted one another. They indeed seemed like an adult royal family in exile, albeit one from a bygone era!

They were clearly handling their recent losses with grace, although Peter's gaffe a moment ago about being growing children again, showed that they still needed help to make it all fall into place. He couldn't imagine what it must be like.

The three younger ones all confidently treated their elder brother with a mixture of respect, reverence and teasing familiarity. In turn, he was observably more mature in tone and manner, with an easy friendliness and charm. And he had a gift for inspiration and leadership. They all did in fact. But the others actively asked his opinion and he always asked for theirs, even if he made his own decisions. His directness of manner was disarming. He looked everyone in the eye with utter confidence.

The eldest girl had left behind the slightly churlish, strident manner of the child-mother towards her younger siblings and rival of the elder. She had relaxed into the role of equal and ally of all and with the two youngest so changed, the tone was of supporter, encourager and challenger.

Digory Kirk found to his delight that Susan's ability to apply both practical and philosophical logic almost rivalled his own and he longed for more discussions with her. It seemed that between herself and Edmund, they had dispensed justice on a monthly basis for fifteen years and had presided over cases as diverse as rape, burglary, theft, black-magic, abduction, dwarf unionisation, talking beast emancipation, forced servitude, vampirism, murder and embezzlement. Narnia had clearly not remained the land of hope and blissful peace he and Polly remembered, but it seemed that these four children had done much to restore it.

His own work was at an utter standstill. Almost as soon as the children had returned and broken their story, the rain stopped and the sun came out. He had taken to going on long rambles with them with his stick. He anticipated with awe every conversation.

As for the younger boy, the transformation was astounding. Instead of a stormy, grief-stricken, resentful and vengeful child, he had come back from Narnia full of grace, consideration and gravity. He seemed as if daily he was grateful to be alive and wanted to show it.

Of all the children he was the one who really seemed the most reconciled to being back. The love, concern and respect he showed his siblings as they faced the challenges of dislocation from Narnia and difficulties of being children again was inspiring. Indeed anyone who crossed his path was liable to get a dose of something, whether it was empathy, analysis, or moral judgement.

Only this morning at breakfast, he had elucidated on the possible character flaws in the Deutsche leadership and people that they had come to behave so badly towards their own people and their neighbours. He sounded like a lawyer, a psychiatrist or a priest!

Betty had nearly dropped the plates and then he had asked if she needed any assistance.

And the little girl. Well... it would not be an exaggeration to say that she shone.

Digory knew that Mrs Macready had never been a lover of children and had seen her brace herself anxiously for the children's visit.

Only a tenday ago, when Lucy had fallen to pieces over not being believed about the wardrobe, Mrs Macready had been rather overwhelmed by the shenanigans and found her worst fears about having children in the house were being confirmed. She had come and complained to him more than once and suggested they be billetted elsewhere.

But now the Professor knew that whenever Mrs. Macready saw Lucy she would break into a smile and say how delightful it was to have her in the house. Even when Lucy skipped about, clattering up the stairs and bumping into historical artefacts, Mrs Macready was completely unruffled. Lucy remained the most childlike of the four.

And astoundingly, all of the four were utterly able to shed tears of sorrow about their losses without a shred of embarassment and did so with uncomplicated naturalness. For the tears were like clearing showers and only served to highlight the general sunniness and nobility of the four. It was particularly noticeable in the boys because of the unusual dignity with which they handled it. There was no shame. They were all processing their grief and loss steadily, efficiently and without inhibition. Mrs. Macready was pleasantly surprised. Professor Kirk was awed.

...

Ivy 

Ivy, Margaret and Betty were confused.

"What's come over them four kids?" asked Betty. "Seems like just last week they was doin' their level best to be miserable and that little boy so mean and all!"

"Yes," said Margaret, "and now, they all four are so suave and pretty with their words and all-so-concerned for everyone. Sorry, but it fair sticks in me craw. S'all very nice and everything, but it's not normal."

"Wonder what they gointa say and do next? I come across that young boy 'avin a lovely big cry out in the stable, while he was brushin' down a 'orse. When he saw me, just laughed through his tears at me and said it was all for the best! I was that flummoxed." added Betty, laughing.

"That young lady, look at 'er! Way she does 'er 'air. A fair slapper she's showin' 'erself to be, I reckon," said Ivy.

"Oooh, slap you! Yes fair sister, methinks the day will come when a sticky end to that one will come! Shouldn't bleedin' wonder!" chortled Margaret.

They went about their tasks and shared many a sly glance as they encountered the children over the days but they held their tongues and listened guile-fully at breakfast and the evening meals.

...

Polly

Polly alighted onto the Maiden Newton Station platform and looked about expecting to see the dour housekeeper in the station yard, impatiently waiting for her to get herself and her things into the automobile. But there she was, smiling and waving and walking towards her as if they were best of friends, which they never had been. When Polly had come down to Dorset to stay with Digory, Mrs Macready had been Miss Judith Sloane, the gamekeeper's daughter. They had tried to "get on" but Judith had never really trusted Polly, the girl from the big city and they had learned to tolerate each other.

Next to Mrs Macready were two extraordinary girls. One looked only about 7 years old. She was the most brilliantly-grinned golden-child Polly had ever seen, positively brimming with enthusiasm and joy to see her. With her was a gracious taller girl of about 12 with unbound raven locks and the poise and queenly smile of a lady more than twice her age. It was she who spoke.

"Oh, Miss Plummer, it really is such a delight to meet you at last. My dear brothers and gentle sister and I have all been waiting with bated breath since we heard of your impending arrival yesterday! I'm Susan." It was not the speech of a 12 year old. She took Polly's hand gracefully and then actually curtseyed, with practiced grace and skill. It looked distinctly medieval.

It was a far cry from Polly's stolid tweed and sensible shoes approach to life, but she couldn't help smiling.

The other one skipped forward, bobbed her head slightly and grasped her hand, eyes twinkling with suppressed conspiracy. "I'm Lucy. To have finally met you after all this time!"

That was a little odd , but Polly couldn't help smiling back at her too.

She said, "Well it is very good to be here. I decided I simply must come down to see the Professor. I just had a feeling about something and needed to talk to him. Time does fly. And I haven't seen either him or Mrs. Macready here for nearly three years."

Looking sharply and wonderingly at Mrs Macready, she added, "So you did take some children from London then Judith. I am glad. Do this tired old museum and its staff the world of good I shouldn't wonder."

Mrs Macready just shrugged, smiled and winked broadly and said "Welcome back Polly" and gave her a warm hug. What had got into that woman?

The younger girl took Polly's enormous portmanteau, staggering under its weight.

She looked nonplussed for a moment, giggled a little mournfully and said cryptically, "I am sorry, I keep forgetting I'm not as strong as I was Miss Plummer. Could you assist me dear sister?"

From Polly's point of view this one looked as strong and vigorous as any growing child she had ever seen, but she was obviously far too small and light for the big suitcase. Whatever could she be talking about?

Susan stepped in and between her and Lucy, they wrestled the suitcase down the platform ramp and up into the trunk of the black Vauxhall.

When they were all on their way, Polly in the front passenger seat, the younger child leaned forward and spoke in an undertone into Polly's right ear.

"You should know something Miss Plummer. The Professor has shared with us some extraordinary tales about his time living next door to you in London."

"Oh really, did he now?" Polly wondered what Digory could have been referring to. "Did it involve jumping into puddles and me getting into trouble and being sent to my room?"

"Indeed yes, and more beside. Mayhap I am being a little presumptuous to speak of this before we return to our fair accommodations, but I believe it also involved: some rings, a wood, a bell, a very tall lady and a journey to get an apple."

Polly stared forward thunderstruck. What was coming next?

She glanced warily at Judith Macready, but she was concentrating on avoiding potholes, her eyes fixed on the road and didn't seem to have heard a thing.

Susan leaned in from behind on the other side. "We now have some extraordinary tales of our own you see Miss Plummer. Your unexpected arrival has come only days after our own... return, shall we say? We believe Aslan must have sent you to visit us for some purpose."

Polly swallowed a lump which arose in her throat at the sound of that name. The sea of tossing gold washed over and through her. She remembered once again the joy and reassurance that had sustained her through all the moments of doubt in her long life.

"Or for us to give you and the Professor a message of some kind" came in Lucy in her left ear. "You may be pleased to know that the London Lamp Post is still burning."

Polly twisted around, looking through tears first at Susan, then Lucy. Their eyes also brimmed and their lips trembled.

Polly reached back and offered a hand and they hung on tightly. She now had some inkling of why she was here.

...

Author:

If this chapter induces you to comment, either positively or negatively, please do so! :) Please read the next chapter too.


	2. The Liniment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Polly ponders the place of the Kirke Estate and Family in her childhood and wider life. She returns and becomes disturbed as she learns more about what is going on for the Pevensies in the aftermath of their return.

...

Polly

Polly should have been tired from the journey but she was alive with emotion. 

It took three quarters of an hour to drive back to the estate along the rutted and pot-holed roads but she hardly noticed.  


After the shared quiet tears, they fell into a brief respectful silence but after Polly was sufficiently recovered she decided to make small talk with Judith. It was good to see each other again. It was true... and a delight to see her face falling into unaccustomed smiles and brightness.

They laughed about some old memories and talked about the house tours which Judith obviously loved conducting. These brought in a little money, and helped pay the bills but with the war on and everyone rationing, there was less spare money about. Judith told her, as an aside, about how they were able to keep the third servant Betty for the time being because the children had arrived and Mr and Mrs Pevensie were paying a generous allowance. It meant there were another pair of hands to dust and polish the house exhibits and to plant or hoe an occasional row of vegetables in the Dig for Victory campaign, not to mention the extra laundry and cooking. Judith also remarked that Professor Kirke had begun to sell a few of the less spectacular but nevertheless valuable heirlooms to help fortify the household economy.

Bring on the end of this war, she thought grimly.  


But then she reminded herself that she was here in the company of old friends and children again and had much to be thankful for. Children with whom she now knew she had more in common than visits to Dorset and the Kirke Family home.  


Like Judith, she had never had children. Not because she had lost a first husband to the Great War and never remarried like Judith. It was simply that she was not the marrying kind. For Polly had found she preferred the social company of her own sex and a career that kept her mind active and engaged with the greater goings on in the world. There was rarely time for children in her life even though she adored their company. As for the fripperies of weddings and christenings, operatics and theatre concerts, costumery and the silly posturing at society season balls; she had a very low tolerance for them all.  


...  


As they drove through the gate and swept along the leafy drive, Polly's memories of those wonderful summer holidays flooded back.  


The first time she had come to Dorset, was only a few months after Digory had first arrived himself. They had immediately dressed in old clothes and wellingtons and deliberately jumped in as many puddles as they could. There had been no Mrs Plummer to discipline her precious girl for getting wet and filthy. Far from being disappointed at the hard gravel or sticky mud a few inches down instead of deep shafts of light and shadows to other worlds, they had found the splashing and laughter and being immersed in the country released their imaginations, which flew them to many places with ease. Their wonder and joy had been in each other's vivid enjoyment of the world and the senses and the adventures they could create together.  


Narnia's birth and Charn's implosion, were of a far greater order of wonder, but the connection their witnessing had forged between herself and Digory was a lifelong one, and sacred.  


Polly had a wave of nostalgia as she recalled Digory's mother Mabel and even his father Alexander joining them in some of their singalongs, nature walks and mad explorations. At the time, Polly had found herself embraced by a small family which was so utterly unlike her own and so utterly satisfying that she came to realise that her smuggler's cave retreat in the attic was as much a place of escape from a stultifying childhood as a way to focus her imagination. She had come to realise after spending time in Dorset that she was a lonely child.

As told in The Magician’s Nephew, Polly had indeed learned to swim and ride a horse here.  


As they had become a little older, they had gone cross-country-riding to all sorts of places. Judith had sometimes joined them along with some other local young people.  


That was where Judith Sloane had met Malcolm Macready, a dashing Scotsman who had come visiting family friends for the summer holidays. He was training to be an air pilot. They were married two years later up in Ayrshire and a few of the cross country riding crew had gone to for the event. Tragically, only a few years later, Malcolm was shot down over France in his Bristol Scout early in the Great War. Grief-stricken, Judith had returned to Dorset and gone to work in the great House for Mabel and Alexander Kirke. About 15 years ago, only a few years before their deaths, she had become its housekeeper.

Polly had initially become a nurse, but during the Great War had seen too much blood and gore and heard too many screams for a lifetime, so after the war, she had retrained in communications, first in telephony and later in Morse and other codes. It was quieter. She had recently helped break some German codes and had got herself a well earned break. Getting away from the sounds of sirens, planes and bombs was a blessed relief.

But here there was a new sensory alertness, a frisson of anticipation. It was quite different for instance, to the moment when she realised she had broken one of the Nazi’s codes. That had been a kind of fierce joy tempered by grimness and great grief. This feeling was as if she could or was about to see, smell, hear, taste and touch just a little more clearly, more strongly than Polly had felt… for… well, a long time… since she was a child... since she had been in Narnia... and here on holidays.  


And here she was. Polly had come home.

...

Judith Macready drove the car right up to the grand front steps and dropped them off.

"Polly, I've got you in your old room in the East Wing. I thought you'd like that." she said, leaning out the window a little. "I'm sure you can find your own way there. And you've got the girls to help you with your things, if you don't mind Susan and Lucy?" 

She gave them all a wink and a tired smile. "I've got to oversee dinner. See you a bit later. It’ll be in the back dining room at half past six on the dot. I'll try to send Betty up presently, to see if you need any help".

She clearly ran a tight ship. She disappeared with the Vauxhall off round the back to one of the converted stables.

Between the three, they managed to get Polly's suitcase up the front steps, through the hall and up the staircase and the top corridor. Turning left they deposited it in the third room in the East wing. There was the dear old floral counterpane and the lacy pillows. There was the same view out to the wooded hill, behind the house as always, side-lit by late afternoon sun. Then she noticed her old blue riding habit from when she was seventeen, hung from the brass clothes rack. It had been a gift from Digory. She doubted it would fit now. She had a tear in her eye which she dabbed with a handkerchief.

“Just a moment” Polly said. She walked to the door and closed it gently. Then, becoming quite business-like, she turned, then went and sat on the edge of the bed. She turned to Susan and Lucy and said in a low voice, "Now, from what you both said in the car earlier, you've both clearly been to Narnia too. Am I right in assuming that your two brothers also got there with you? I just want to be sure what we can and cannot talk about when we go in to see Digory, if your brothers are about."

"Indeed they did Miss Plummer." said Susan. "We have all four of us been talking with the Professor at nearly every spare moment in one combination or another. I'm sure he would appreciate some respite from our demands, for some private reflection now that you are here. We all need your advice I deem."

Polly wondered what advice she could give. But if the emotional exchange in the car was anything to go by, just some older womanly comfort might go a long way.  


Lucy beamed tremulously at her. She said “Oh Miss Plummer, I’m so glad that you’re here. Even if our own Mother was here we could not possibly tell her what has happened to us. Or if we did, she would think we were all going mad! We are so changed. I will love and adore Aslan forever, but ... this is so very hard.” 

She paused, her eyes now brimming with tears. Looking grave Polly held out her left arm. Lucy threw herself down and clinging to Polly, began to sob as if her heart would break. 

Polly put her arm around her and just let her cry. She offered the other to Susan. Susan sat down gently and laid her head on Polly’s right shoulder. Lucy's tears had quietened somewhat. 

“It is very hard. The Professor has been wonderful and is doing all he can, but the servants here look at us like we’ve stepped out of an H.G. Wells novel,” added Susan. “Also, Lucy and I have not had another woman to speak to about this. We know we can trust you. After all, Aslan sent you didn’t he.”

Sitting there pondering this impossible situation, Polly supposed he must have.

...

After a pause and a few sniffles and a dab of a handkerchief, they gathered themselves and went into the East Wing bathroom and freshened up using a little soap and cold water and a spray of Polly's Eau-de-Cologne. 

Fortified by that, they found their way back to the front of the house and turned along the corridor until they found the Professor's study, which occupied one of the large bright South facing rooms over the front entrance.

They knocked and then entered. There was a mess of papers and books, and a plate with a few un-eaten sandwiches but no one in. Lucy picked up a sardine sandwich and sniffed. It reminded her of something, but what? She chewed on it thoughtfully. They heard the echo of voices coming through the adjoining door into the Library. It was ajar.

They walked quietly across looked into the magnificent Library, lined with books on three sides. Peter was far up the rolling ladder, retrieving books for the Professor from the top shelf. He stood at the base with a mahogany tray-mobile piled with books, keeping the ladder steady with Edmund.

"You said the vellum bound book with the silver lettering on the spine Tumn… ? Ahem, sorry Professor, I forgot where I was for a moment. I see it now, just a bit further to the right. It has a red silk marker?” 

"Yes, that's the one". 

"Perchance the ladder could be shifted another foot? My arms are so short these days. It is somewhat beyond my reach." 

With some effort Edmund and the Professor rolled the ladder a little to the right and Peter triumphantly grasped the large book with one hand and came back down.

Polly and the girls waited patiently till Peter was down and the book on the tray-mobile, before they came forward. 

"Allow us to introduce our Royal brothers. High King Peter, Lord of Cair Paravel and King Edmund, Duke of Lantern Waste", announced Lucy grandly. Edmund and Peter bowed.

Polly wavered slightly at all this ceremony and tried to not laugh. But Peter came forward, embraced Polly and standing on tiptoe, kissed her on the brow, saying "The Lion's breath be upon you". It was not Aslan himself, but to be kissed so sweetly, so welcomingly by another who had also met Aslan and held him in reverence meant a great deal. 

...

Betty

Polly teared up again, realising there might be rather a lot of this kind of thing in coming days.

Just at that moment Betty popped her head in the main Library door, to see if her help was still needed. She blanched when she saw a 14 year old boy kiss a 60 year old woman on the forehead, as if in benediction, like a priest might kiss a supplicant.  


She stepped backwards to escape from the scene but crashed into a bamboo what-not just inside the door. It held a potted Aspidistra and it couldn't help but wobble and begin to topple. 

This provoked a terrified squawk from Betty who almost overbalanced herself, flailing ineffectually to prevent disaster. 

She was not calmed when Susan leapt forwards, and with a graceful sliding lunge caught the heavy pot just in time. With her momentum Susan spun like a ballet dancer, plant held high, before depositing the whole plant gently back where it belonged, steadying the what-not deftly with her left foot.

"Oh, Bravo!" Polly knew a sportswoman when she saw one. 

Betty was gasping. Everyone else broke out into a round of clapping. Susan curtseyed briefly with good humour and took Betty's shaking hand, thanking her for preventing the stand falling too, saying, "It really could have happened to anyone Betty. I'm just glad I was close by and could help you out".

Betty's eyes bulged, awestruck. She knew Susan had been at least fifteen feet away and she had just done what? It had been accomplished faster than the eye could see. 

Suddenly Susan almost toppled herself, gasped and clung back on to Betty. The others gathered around concerned. 

Peter stepped in and Susan lurched to lean on Peter, propped up by Edmund on her other side.

"Ooh my childish sinews are so unaccustomed to such trials" she groaned to all and sundry. "I haven't made a move like that since the hunt for the great boar, when young Orruns nearly got tusked." 

She paused, her eyes glazing before laughing shakily, realising where she was. "Well, never mind when... Things cannot be helped now". 

Lucy immediately began asking Betty what medicinal herbs were in the house and if there were any chance of fetching her some. "An unguent of Arnica, Calendula, and Narnian Freznie? Or perhaps a warm compress of Calormene Turmeric and Terebinthian Turpentine?" she said authoritatively, looking at both Betty and the Professor. Then her face crumpled in distress when she realised what she'd said. 

The Professor coughed. "Just get the Rice's Liniment for Pain, Betty, if you would", he said. "In the medicine chest in the pantry from memory". 

"Very good sir", said Betty, her voice quavering, before escaping the uncomfortable silence, her footsteps echoing away down the stairs.

...

Polly

"Nicely saved Digory." commented Polly quietly, who'd been taking it all in. “Beautiful piece of athletics there Susan, but it seems like you overstepped a limit of some kind? And what was that about childish sinews just now?"

"Well, I'm back in a child's body. We all are."

"It fair knocks the stuffing of you to find the out the world around you has changed" said Edmund, "But to find that the very body you occupy has... lost all it… had..." 

His voice trailed off as he looked at Polly anxiously. 

Polly's eyes widened. It was finally going in. She marched over to the Library door and slammed it shut. The Aspidistra quivered. She turned around. 

"Liniment be damned! You mean to tell me that you all went to Narnia and you grew up there?! And you ruled the place, for what… years?” she exclaimed. 

They nodded glumly.

“How many?”

“At least f-f-f-fifteen. M-m-m-maybe more, we’re not really sure... are we?” stammered Lucy.

“And now you're back and you're not adults anymore?! But that’s horrible! What can Aslan have meant by it?... oh this really does bear some thinking. His purpose, his purpose!" She paced about and stamped her foot. Then she spun around. "And I suppose you’re going to say it’s all logical are you Digory?” Polly glared at him, eyes blazing.  


The Professor just looked on, mild-mannered as ever. He smiled gently, looking at the children to see who might respond first.

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier Lucy and Susan!” she pleaded. They were both trembling. Someone was finally confronting the issue.

“Oh, never mind! So do you still feel like grown-ups? Or are you feeling like children again? You know, inside yourselves?"

"It comes in fits and starts Miss Plummer”, said Susan, grimacing, as Peter and Edmund helped her to a seat back in the Professor’s study. "On the way back in the automobile, I was really feeling like a twelve-year-old again. You know, a bit like a vulnerable child glad to have your older woman's protection and understanding and a little bit adolescent, feeling self-conscious and unsure of myself, a bit like a new house without a roof yet. But at other moments I feel exactly like I did a week ago. I was a knowledgeable, skilled, athletic, strong and privileged woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it. I was at least eight and twenty years old and I was one of the rulers of the most tantalisingly beautiful and blessed places in the universe. And we worked so hard to return it to that state. It was a Golden Age! And now it’s gone,” she finished mournfully.

“It’s like that for all of us.” added Peter. “We’ve all noticed the changes. The Professor has been madly taking notes whilst one or other of us talk, but at times the thoughts will not flow, the stories get stuck and float away into vague phantasms, with no structure or meaning, like dreams do after you wake up.” 

“When I am feeling like I was when I saved that plant just now, I know I can do virtually anything. In the air of Narnia I was taught to dance by dryads, to shoot by centaurs, spar and grapple by minotaurs; to ride, stand and somersault on a running horse's back by the Maenads. I led the Narnian Archers in our wars of defence. Often in rough country too. You saw what I accomplished a moment ago. In Narnia that would have been a mere trifle. But the strain on this child-body was too much.”

Polly looked at Susan with proprietary concern and pity. "You really do need taking under someone's wing. It's a pity Aslan didn't take away your memories of being there at all."

There was a chorus of protest. 

“Oh no!” exclaimed Edmund. “We are sure there is a purpose for all of it. I have returned a new boy and I am better for it by far. Aslan always told us, ‘Once a King or Queen of Narnia, Always a King or Queen of Narnia. Bear it well Son of Adam. Bear it well Daughter of Eve’. We intend to.” 

...

Betty

Back downstairs, Betty finally found the Rice’s Liniment for Pain.  


Before she went back up, Betty breathlessly told the story of what she’d seen to Margaret who was whipping up batter for Friday fish. 

"No wonder she pulled a ruddy muscle, she was like lightning!”, she said. “But then there was this rubbish about saving someone with a silly name in a boar hunt? Of all the nerve! We ‘aven’t had wild boar in England for centuries! And who's she tryin' to fool? She’s just a kid from ruddy London." 

“Exactly! But there’s something funny goin’ on.” said Margaret. She pointed her chin at the large pile of white meat that was glistening on her chopping board. “We'll be eatin' well tonight. This ‘ere Pike was wrestled out of the bleedin’ river by the eldest boy early this afternoon. Kid you not. Twenty pound it were”.

...

Author:

If this chapter induces you to comment, either positively or negatively, please do so! :) Please read the next chapter too.


	3. The Pike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Polly and Digory and the children resolve how they will smooth the path for the children.

The Pike  


(thanks to meldahlie who alerted me to the glaringly obvious factor of the setting itself being a potential contributor to the children's odd behaviours. So this chapter sets the scene for what in chapter 4 will be a performance that I hope will do the Narnian bards justice)  


...  


Digory

"Now that Polly is appraised more fully of the situation, I am hoping we might take thought about how we manage some of what I am sure the house servants are experiencing as moments of great eccentricity and oddness," said Digory.

"I've seen some glances. Judith Macready seems to be taking it all in her stride without much explanation. She certainly finds it odd, but also pleasing. But we still need to make the changes in the four young ones here seem quite logical to those not in the know, including her. I think for her it is just a relief to have children about who know how to behave and who are so helpful."  


"Well, you are!" he protested when he saw some slightly guarded and cynical looks. "Er… well, at least you weren't! Well… n-n-not exactly, just being n-n-ormal children really," he stuttered slightly, feeling himself getting a little pink.

Digory cleared his throat. "It was obvious from the start that you were very well brought up, just having a difficult time of it really; under the circumstances. And since you've been back there has been no arguing. Both Edmund and Lucy are embraced by you all and Lucy's natural sunniness shines through… whenever she isn't having a little cry. Edmund is now the paragon of respect and intelligence and emotional maturity, which includes having a discreet little cry too. Oh, yes, don't think I haven't noticed. I cried a lot when I was a little older than you Edmund and it did me the world of good, but you all know about that sort of thing. And yesterday morning, Susan happily helped Judith and Betty take down the curtains and beat the dust out of them and knew just the tricks to help hide some of the moth eaten and threadbare parts when they went back up."

"Oh, yes," he said feeling pleased, waggling his finger, "Mrs Macready is beginning to find that she appreciates you a great deal. I daresay when the time comes for you all to return to London, that she will be trying to find ways to keep you here. And I believe we might be eating well tonight… and the next. Polly, let me tell you! This morning some of the children went walking in the woods and returned with extraordinarily good forage. Those chanterelles Lucy! Expertly gathered. You certainly know how to handle a small knife! Between them they found red currants, wild mint and tiny, sweet, wild strawberries. And I am told that Susan brought down a brace of fat pheasant using a bolas! I believe you've strung them up discretely in the barn until tomorrow Susan; no point in overwhelming the servants all in one day. And after lunch today, Peter and I went on a ramble down to the river's edge. We took a line down and some bait. We came back with a huge pike! Peter caught a smallish perch within seconds and then knew exactly how to use it to get a pike. And then how to haul it all in by himself! It took fully fifteen minutes once it bit. It was enormous! I thought it was touch and go for a bit and would bite the hook and line off, but he looked like he'd been at it for twenty years, a seasoned old salt! Most impressive… Oh, well yes, I'm forgetting myself now," he said with chagrin, when he saw Peter and Edmund and Susan exchange glances and hold their hands up silently, as if to say "well, what do you expect Professor?"

"But that's just the rub!" said Edmund. "There's our moments of forgetfulness, when we are still very much children, but then there are the things we can do or we know how to do… or grown up things that we know about! We might have been kings and queens, but we were in a small country and our subjects respected us more if we knew how to fend for ourselves."  


"Exactly!" cried Susan, "and don't forget we all grew up. We were courted and paid court ourselves... and more besides," she added, under her breath.

Digory decided it would be better to leave that line of discussion alone.

"I quite agree" muttered Peter. "That stumble of mine yesterday when I was asking for more ginger snaps, to help bring back memories, now, that certainly would have sounded odd. And Susan made mention just now of the great boar hunt, when she rescued Orruns the young faun child. It's just that each of us are having moments in which we childishly or naïvely don't seem able to consider who is listening, even when we do remember we are back. We have just now been looking through the Library and trying to find some information on how people can be helped through great change, but we are not finding much to go on. I suppose that last book we just got down might have something in it."

He flicked it open irritably and stared blankly at one of the illustrations. It was of a Regency Period operetta recital. It gave him no ideas. "but really I am sure…" his voice trailed into silence."  


"Look here, I've been thinking about this for days" said Edmund quietly. "Ever since we returned it has seemed to me vitally important to not deny what we have been given. But it strikes me that more than a little subterfuge could go a long way in keeping things simple."

"What do you mean Ed?" asked Lucy curiously.

"Well, I'm not sure, it's just that as the Professor says, there needs to be some explanation. No matter how much we try to cover up, there will always be moments and no doubt much will fade in time; it is already starting to. But right now we need something convincing."

"Like deliberate play-acting you mean?" Susan continued.

"A little, like a story that can account for it all, that is more believable. So yes, I think I do," Edmund replied.

Peter looked up. "Funny, that's exactly what this book fell open to." He held up the vellum book and showed them the regency period engraving, a feather bedecked bosomy matron in full operatic regalia, with a parrot on her shoulder, her audience sitting rapt in a pillared hall.

Polly stepped in and looked over his shoulder. "Oh dear, not a costume drama… I really don't think…"

"Oh no, I don't mean that", interrupted Edmund, "Well, I don't think so, anyway. I think I had in mind us telling stories about our time in Narnia as if we are performing a piece of theatre we learned back in London, or about a series of events we read in a book. But as children."

"And that we are all of us pretending that this house is really like a great castle?" asked Susan, "And that's why we are speaking as if we are learned kings and queens, who have fought battles and saved fauns, because it feels like that is what we should do here in the mysterious country house with suits of armour, far from London! Oh, I really think that might work."

Peter was puzzled. "But isn't that what we are already doing? We are play-acting at being children, when we know we are not."

"Sorry Peter, just the opposite actually", said Polly. "I think I am catching on. I'm not quite sure, but I think that what Edmund and Susan mean is that you all have to accept that you are children again. Aslan has made it that way and you all have to make the best of it. But Edmund says, quite rightly I think, that it is important to not deny where you have been and how you are changed. So I think he is saying that instead of you trying to hide it away, you might all need to intensify it by play-acting at being experienced grown-up rulers, when you know you are now not. Am I right?" she asked.

Susan and Edmund, glancing at each other, nodded.

"Yes" Susan said, "it could aim to come across as a child's game, something we have adopted to survive our dislocation, basing it on past acting and gymnastics classes and the fact we are staying in a great big house that to us is like a castle."

Peter looked glumly down at the engraving in front of him. "We are children again, whether we like it or not."

"I think it is a good idea Peter." said Lucy. "I feel like I want to tell everyone I meet about some of the wonderful things I have done and seen, but I just can't. And I am a child again Peter. I can feel that I am losing a lot of the adult grace that I had developed. I'm bumping into things again. Even the way I speak is less… cultured and educated. Although I still have my moments fair consorts!" she giggled. "And today when I climbed a path in the woods, I fell over and skun my knee." She twitched up her skirt and showed a red mark that would surely become a good scab in a day or so. "I haven't done that for at least twelve years, since I was 10. I'm not looking forward to being that age again, I can tell you."

"Oh, that sounds too strange!" she exclaimed. "Well, you're about to become a man again soon Peter, I know. But it will never be the same now for any of us. It is already fading as you said, but I'm sure if we put the time in we could come up with something. If I could stand in front of Betty and Margaret and the others and just let fly about meeting Mr Tumnus, or using my cordial, or fighting against Rabadash at Anvard, or leading the courtly dances in Narrowhaven, or dancing with dryads and fauns on Dancing Lawn, even if it sounds to them like a fanciful made up story, I know it isn't. And I would feel so much better. I wouldn't feel afterwards like I always had to watch everything I say. There will be an explanation for our oddnesses." Lucy finished.

"What do you think royal brother?" asked Susan. "You're the High King, we always turn to you to make the final decision. Do you see any reason why it is not a good idea?

And so it was decided. Digory came to realise that Peter would not pass a good idea by when it came to him in such a way.

Then he glanced at the engraving and saw that looking around one of the pillars was a lion.

…

It was nearly time for dinner, so it was agreed that after dinner and over the course of the next day, the four would plan a recital to be performed after dinner on the following day.  


"And I must beg your pardon" said Digory, "but I think for the sake of form, Polly and I must spend time after dinner with Mrs Macready. The adults in the drawing room after the children go to bed as it were. We haven't had a really good catch up for a long time. And this war is not going to stop any time soon I suspect. We really don't know how long we have or if Polly will get bombed. It will also give us time to find out more about Judith's perceptions and one of us can speak about it with you in the morning."

So on that sombre note, the four children who were not children, were gently reminded that they were not necessarily the most important people in the world after all and that they had work to do on their own behalf.

…

Margaret

For dinner, Margaret had put on a rustic experience. Usually at dinner everything was in measured serves but tonight there was an enormous pile of battered fish pieces, on a hot plate in the middle of the table.

There was a cone of newspaper lined with grease-proof next to everyone's plate holding a steaming cluster of delectable hot chips with the skins still on, just the way they all liked them. There was pepper and salt and a small bottle of vinegar to pass around.

She had also concocted a wonderful dipping sauce from eggs, cream, chopped gherkins, vinegar and a little salt, mustard and sugar.  


"Me uncle runs a chip shop on the Brighton Pier… well until the war come and they had to close it down. He's somewhere in Belgium now, drivin' ambliances," she said, with a tear in her eye. "He taught me this one. It's real Tartar food they say. I thought you might like it Miss Plummer, coming from London and all, with all them foreigners about. I've 'eard Fish and Chips in London with all the 'cumpniments, is quite the gourmét experience. Don't know if the children will 'preciate it."

Margaret needn't have worried. The children fell to. Everyone ate with their fingers without ceremony and Edmund in particular went back to the dipping sauce again and again.  


"Oh, this so reminds me of Terebi… oh, never mind," he said catching himself. "I once sat on a beach and had fresh fish with a sauce a lot like this one. Thank you Margaret… and Peter."

Margaret felt quite chuffed when he asked her for the recipe and told her that if they ever went to Brighton after the war that they would make a point of visiting her uncle's chip shop, to which there was a chorus of agreement.

"And did you really fish the pike all by yourself Peter?" asked Mrs Macready?

"Well, to tell you the truth, the Professor did give me guidance all the way through," Peter responded, not entirely untruthfully. "He showed me to a big isolated bend, with lots of reeds and some water lilies, up past the pumping house. I must say, I did feel jolly lucky to haul it in. There was a big risk of snags. They do have rather sharp teeth and he was a big one. But we had some nice thick line and the Professor reminded me to use two hooks in my bait fish. It all worked rather splendidly."

Having been the main cook for the night, Margaret was able to stay at the table whilst Betty and Ivy cleared things away. It felt wonderful and a little daring, but really, as she knew, the days of lords and ladies upstairs and servants downstairs were nearly over. She knew that once upon a time, the house would have had a butler and that he and the housekeeper would have presided over the servants' mealtimes. But with only five of them normally in the house, it was quite silly to keep up the pretence. The wars were flattening things out, that was certain.

…

Polly

Then Betty brought in Mrs Macready's Apple and Pear Charlotte to welcome Polly. Betty said, "Mrs Macready says that it was always your favourite Ms Plummer, when you come down here on holidays when you was a young thing. We hope you like it."

So, it was that Polly found she had the floor. Of course she said how wonderful it was to be back and how thankful she was to be amongst old friends and to have such delicious food when everyone was rationing so tightly back in London.

Then she turned to everyone and said, "I have two pieces of news. One about the war, something I'm very proud about and one about the children here. Firstly, I can say that I have had some success recently in breaking some of the enemy's communication codes. The team I work with, worked day and night for months on it and we finally managed to get somewhere. To tell you the truth, it was a little bit like Peter's trick with the Perch and the Pike. It was a case of using one code to break another. Very complicated. But I can't say any more. We hope it helps our boys to haul in a big fish very soon!"

There was much applause and "Jolly old Britannia!" from Margaret and Ivy. 

Polly inclined her head very slightly. Then she said, "and the second thing I would like to announce, is that I have been told that Digory and the children have been cooking up a little something by themselves over the last few days. They've asked me to help. The children tell me that staying here in this big country house has been quite an experience for them and that it has captured their imaginations abut lords and ladies of the past and the realms of faerie. So they are moved to put on a little performance tomorrow evening after dinner. They have all done acting classes before and even a little gymnastics back in London, so I think we are in for treat. Everyone is invited, aren't they Digory?"

"Yes indeed. And if you care to invite any of the land girls you know along who are working across the estate, please feel free. That is suitable is it not?" he asked Peter and the others.  


Polly wondered how many people this would mean in the end.

The performance had better be good.

…

Author:

If this chapter induces you to want to comment, either positively or negatively, please do so! :) Please read the next chapter too when I post it, which should be by the end of November 2016.


	4. The Drawing Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Polly, Digory and Judith consult over a sherry and Ivy and Betty see something that make them uncomfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was intending to move straight to the performance but that will have to be Chapter 5. There is too much going on in the world to not have a decent discussion in the drawing room after dinner. And just because the children went upstairs to bed like good children does not mean they will have stayed there.

The Drawing Room  
…

Polly

Peter and the rest went upstairs to talk in their rooms and Polly joined Digory and Mrs Macready in the Drawing Room which was on the Upper floor of the East Wing.

It was one of those lovely balmy spring evenings and they were able to open the window and hear the blackbirds whistling their merry tunes into the dusk whilst they sipped a dry sherry. Polly sat on the window seat gazing out at the full moon, which was flooding its gentle white-gold light over the garden, the fields and the hill behind the house. Streamers of cloud scudded high, a slight rainbow halo surrounding the moon.

From Polly's point of view, the evening went smoothly enough. She firstly asked about the estate and the professor's private work but conversation eventually turned to the children.

On that subject, Judith said several things of interest, especially after having heard some of the children's stories so far.

"They were a handful when they first came here, make no mistake. The little girl was bursting into fits of distraught tears every second time I saw her. I couldn't seem to offer her any comfort. And the youngest boy was spiteful as a wasp. I'm sure they are all missing their parents, but the efforts of the two elder ones seemed to be making it worse. And the dratted rain was keeping them indoors. Digory did his best but we were really at a loss. If it had been me when I was a child, I would have been whipped and sent to my bed with a dry crust, but it never did me any good so I got Margaret to make them some Turkish Delight. That's not an easy task if you've ever tried, but she is very good at it. I presented it to the youngest boy Edmund, hoping it would encourage him to share and make up with his siblings, but it was a disaster. He just ran off with it and I don't think he let even young Lucy have any. He certainly looked very ill for a few days. Well, serve him right I thought. I decided not to make a scene."

"And, did you know, only last week I was taking a National Trust party around the house and it was the strangest thing? I could hear the children ahead of me. Always ahead of me! It didn't seem to matter where I went to get away from them; they always seemed to be in the next room. 'The rotten tykes', I thought. 'They're teasing me.'"

"Eventually out of the corner of my eye, I saw them all disappearing into that room that we store the fur coats in. 'Good riddance', I thought. There is only that wardrobe in there. The one Digory had made from the tree that blew down in the storm the same night Mrs Kirke died, Polly. It's a sweet thing, but nothing particularly interesting, so I wasn't planning to take the party in there, but I have no idea what made them all go in, apart from to hide from me."

Polly glanced at Digory. They could both feel the paws of Aslan at work in this story.

Judith misinterpreting their glances, laughed a little self-deprecatingly, "Oh-oh, I expect I must have seemed like an old witch in their eyes, especially the little ones, despite my efforts. But since that day they seem to have settled down very nicely."

She added, "You know I seriously do wonder if they hid right in the wardrobe itself in case I brought the party in and whether long exposure to all those mothballs had done something to them. I know when I saw them next they did look rather dazed. I felt a little awful." She laughed again. "But they must have talked things over in there because they seem to be taking everything quite differently now."

"I agree, we think they have decided to just make the best of things Polly," said Digory, going along with the ruse.

He continued, "Their wish to put on a performance and show us some of the skills they learned in London will be quite charming, don't you think Judith? They must have been itching for it the last few days; all the odd phrases and snatches of tales they've been teasing us with!"

"I hope it will be charming," said Mrs Macready. "It will certainly be interesting. Let's hope they live up to expectations. But in the long term, they are here for the next few months, so as long as they help earn their keep and don't get underfoot when we have house visitors, I'm not so fussed now. They have become quite a pleasure really."

That out the way, Judith and Digory were interested in hearing about what was happening in London and whether there was much hope of the war ending anytime soon. Polly shrugged. "I really think we are in for the long haul, I'm afraid", she said. "The German's don't want this war to go on forever and neither do we, but we are only just beginning to understand more of what they are planning," she said with a shudder.

"Antwerp, Paris, Amsterdam, Rome, Switzerland and London and all the coasts are flooding with people who have escaped from unspeakable horrors. They are climbing on whatever lorries and ships they can find now. Many of them fear for the lives of their closest friends and relatives, many of whom have been 'disappeared'. What is going on in Germany, Yugoslavia, Latvia and Poland doesn't bear thinking about, but it's beginning to happen elsewhere too, including parts of Russia."

"Whatever do you mean?" asked Mrs Macready.

"Oh, so you don't know? Well… I'm not sure you'll want to hear it then. Shall I keep going?" she asked, seeing Judith's face shaded with horror, but who nodded mutely.

She went on. "Families and children being forced from their villages... Prisons of the worst sort..."  
Digory's eyes were very grave.

"…the sort of cold bare windswept prisons that most people never get out of alive. In fact we now have good reason to believe that hundreds of thousands of civilians are not even being put in the prisons. They are just being rounded up and transported like cattle and then executed in the most abominable ways out of sight; Jews particularly. They are considered to be not 'Real Germans'. Others are just being starved and worked to death, the Ladies of the Night, the Trade Unionists, the Gypsies, Poles who look like Poles… and the Homo-genists … and women like me. It's abominable… and it's been going on quietly behind the scenes for several years before now," Polly finished matter-of-factly.

"Oh! Polly, this is too horrible! Is that really what we are fighting against? I thought we were just defending ourselves and Western Europe from German expansion. Oh, no, don't tell me, I don't think I want to know any more," exclaimed Mrs Macready.

Then she suddenly half-shrieked, hand over her mouth, "But what if they win, would they really do it here too?"

"We are very much afraid that it is exactly what they intend to do," added Digory with a heavy sigh. "They have not forgiven the indignity of losing the Great War and are out to prove themselves once and for all."

"And there are plenty of people of the 'Rule Britannia' persuasion who wouldn't really stand in their way either; at least not with social policy about minorities," added Polly crisply. "The Nazi Party's version of Law and Order is not a far cry from what we've heard some of our own politicians spout and even a few of our church leaders, quite frankly. I stopped attending the newsreels. It was too depressing."

"Indeed, now I hear Polly speak," Digory added, "I suspect that beyond just protecting the children from bombs and collapsing buildings, it would be at the back of the authorities' minds that sending children away to the country may be one of the best ways of shielding them from seeing atrocities and being victimised directly, if we did get invaded... at least for a while. If the Germans win the war we may find ourselves in the position of last defence of the vulnerable, Judith."

Polly had visions of troops of hard men in dark uniforms and jackboots marching with dogs through the tame hedgerows, burning sheds, breaking doors and stalking about, shooting up chimneys and dragging terrified children out of wardrobes. It wasn't the first time these visions had haunted her.

"Oh, those poor people!" exclaimed Mrs Macready. "And most of our local men have gone off to fight it. It's going to be like last time isn't it!? Millions sprayed down like so many flies. And all because some stupid violent men in charge can't accept that they have to share the world with everybody else and just get along. Oh, this makes me so cross. Well I'm jolly glad we are going to have a little event tomorrow night then. All that hard thankless work of the Land Girls and the estate families needs some relief. Should we maybe invite the local Home Guard as well?"

"Nice idea Judith, but I'm sure we don't have enough time for inviting them all," said Digory, "and I imagine you'll be wanting to give them refreshments…?" his voice trailed off.

"Oh, of course, there I am getting carried away. And it is normally me who is trying to keep this house so tidy and clean without any disturbance," Judith said, with a grim laugh. "That news from Polly really has upset me so."

Polly responded with, "I'm sorry to take the wind out your sails Judith, but I agree with Digory. Maybe we just keep it fairly small tomorrow night? Have a few people in and see how it goes? They are only children after all," she said, winking discreetly at Digory. "Perhaps in a week or two, if everyone is willing you could have a larger concert with some local singers to take the larger load. If it is good tomorrow night, I'm sure word will get around. By then, you could arrange a few extra helpers."  
…

Digory

The Professor got up and closed the window as the evening chill came in. He turned and stood looking at both women for a moment. Polly with her curly mop of silvered Titian hair and sturdy tweed, just showing a little stoutness. She looked tired but glad to be here. He was glad she was here, despite her grim news. Then Judith. Taut and severe, with her dark grey and white housekeeping uniform, 30 years out of date and a severe bun; pince-nez, hanging from her right breast pocket. She also looked tired and little emotional.

"I suggest we use the ballroom for the recital tomorrow night Judith. I may be the owner but you are the housekeeper, so I must ask," he said not wanting to over-ride her.

She shrugged non-committally and said "Well, you're the Laird here Digory. But it's probably the best place, given we are not sure about numbers."

He continued, "I did think about the Irish room with the harp, but it is upstairs and out the way and a little too intimate. Let's stay on the ground floor. But we will want to bring the harp down. Susan has noticed it and has asked to play it."

When he saw Mrs Macready's rather guarded expression he exclaimed, "Oh, she assures me she knows how to handle one and has had plenty of practice! Anyway it hasn't been played in years, not since Mother played it only a few months before she died. It is about time it got a bit of exercise."

He could see Judith considering and was pleased when she said, "I think it would be delightful, but can a girl of twelve play a harp?" She sighed. "Well, what harm can it do? Good luck to her if she can. She does seem rather accomplished with a number of things. Can't think how she found the time and places to master them. But she's likely the only one here who can play it. I might be of Irish stock but I never really learned properly," she said regretfully, "I have a strum and a pluck every now and again when I pass through the room, but it never goes very far."

Digory himself often went in there for contemplation, and listened to the odd chord, so he knew its value. Digory knew Judith had been fond of his mother Mabel and she had always been fiercely protective of her harp in the room hung with green and the piano, since Mabel's death. It was almost a shrine. So this concession on her part was generous.

As they talked further, Polly mentioned she had seen her old riding habit hanging up in her room. "Did you really get out that old thing Judith?" said Digory. "I thought you would have given that away years ago. Bit small now, don't you think?"

"Oh, I don't know Digory. It has always been kept here for Polly. It wasn't mine, or yours to give away for that matter, remember? You gave it to Polly when she was only seventeen. I just wanted Polly to feel welcome, help her remember things from old times again. After all, we're none of us getting any younger." Mrs Macready had a tear in her eye.

Her eyes brightened momentarily.

"Oh, the great outdoors was such a fine thing! You know, I did get to go up in a plane with Malcolm more than once before the Great War. It was thrilling. I could tell why he was so attracted to it all. The views were astounding. But I always preferred the horses… They were grand times. The places we went and the things we talked about. Do you remember the time we went on a fox hunt and it turned out to be a hyena escaped from some menagerie? Oh, the winds of change were beginning to sweep the cobwebs of that stuffy old Victorian era away. We were full of such hope! And then that blasted war had to come along and wreck it all. And now there's another one! And look at me," she said, brushing down her staid old housekeeper's uniform, "I might as well be living in the Victorian era myself."

Judith took a good gulp of the sherry, gazing into the dusk and when she had cleared her throat she turned and said, "Oh, Polly, I know we weren't best of friends back then, but you and Digory and this house are really all I have now."

She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and sat on the sofa. "I really don't know how much more of this war I can take. I feel so glad I can be here and almost pretend it isn't happening, but it's not going to go away is it. These children being here has brought it all back. There were so many orphans last time and.. and…" She took in a shaky breath and gulped back some more tears.

Digory got up from his chair and sat on her left, Polly on the other side. They gently patted her knee and put their hands on her shoulders. They sat this way for a little whilst Polly poured another small sherry for them all and they drank each other's health again before retiring.  
…

Ivy & Betty

As they prepared for bed, Ivy and Betty went about their rooms, laying out their clothes for the following day, having a little wash and plumping pillows. Betty looked out her window and noticing the moon, she went to twitch the curtains so the light couldn't come in. She knew that in a little while it would shine in directly on her face if she was in the right position and she didn't want to get moonstruck. But just as she did so she noticed some movement. She frowned and pressing her face to the window, she looked across the garden beds to the lawn.

Betty gasped and with an excited suppressed shriek, raced to Ivy's room. "Ivy, Ivy! You've got to see this! Quick, look out your window!" Ivy had just been settling in for the night and wasn't pleased, but Betty's demands could not be ignored. Betty raced to Ivy's dark window and flung the curtains back and they both gazed out intently.

There, clear to those who looked, were three, no, all four of the children. They were holding hands and dancing and capering in the moonlight in a circle! At least three of the figures were. The fourth stood in the centre, it was Susan, stretching her arms skyward, head tilted back and looking directly at the moon. The other three were doing complicated twirls and pirouettes, but always coming back together to hold hands again. This continued for a full three minutes whilst Ivy and Betty giggled and gasped before beginning to huff with outrage.

The three finally stopped and gathering around Susan, also lifted up their arms gazing at the moon. A bright cloud slid over the moon and its halo pulsed visibly. Next moment, the children were gone and a few seconds later, all four strode past the house, right past Betty and Ivy's offended noses. Susan had strode! There was no hint of a limp.  
…


	5. The Performance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kirke household prepares for the evening performance and for supper.

The Performance

…

Susan

Whilst discussing Narnian battle philosophy with the Professor two days before, Susan had told him that in Narnia, whilst learning to master archery, she had also learned to make and use a bolas. She had then deftly made one in his study from the inner bark of willow, a piece of chamois and some large smooth pebbles she had found in the brook that ran through the garden down towards the river. He had listened intently whilst he wrote down in his book what she said, with half an awed eye watching her nimble fingers.

She had told how it was the centaurs who had taught her. They had used this ancient weapon to catch grouse, bustard, ptarmigan, hare and rabbits over the years of their long refuges in Archenland and the Western Wild. Queen Susan the Gentle had become such a dab hand, that her speciality had become discombobulating ground birds, especially when she and her siblings were entertaining foreign dignitaries out on rambles… and providing for the table. 

But she also said that a bolas or two thrown from her hand whilst on horseback had been used to greater effect more than a few times on hunts, particularly in hobbling boar to stop them turning and charging. Once this was witnessed, any tendency to treat her femininity, youthfulness and beauty with oily patronage or sly sarcasm usually dissipated quickly. 

She had described how the battle philosophy of Narnia was disarmament and peaceful negotiation where possible. Thus, she had also used a bolas in battle several times to trip enemy banner bearers, heralds and princes so as to take them captive and to rescue fauns and dwarves from the sword; but the less spoken about that the better. There was gentle and then there was Gentle. 

Queen Susan the Gentle walked into the kitchen with the two pheasants and only a slight limp just after breakfast at seven o’clock in the morning. She told Mrs Macready and Margaret that she’d seen them strung up bleeding freshly in the woods yesterday and had gone on her early morning ramble to see if they were still there. She asked if they could consider them for the evening meal. She had long ago secreted the bolas. No point in letting too many secrets out. 

…

Margaret

Mrs Macready and Margaret looked them over suspiciously. 

But Mrs Macready being the former gamekeeper’s daughter confirmed them quite fresh, though they were stiff of course. She wondered out loud who would have done such a deed. Not that she was bothered by a bit of poaching. There were plenty of pheasant about. 

But as she said, “This is rather odd. There are no bullet wounds. It’s a simple case of their necks being broken and a small cut to help them bleed. What a mystery! I’m wondering whether someone is stringing nets up somewhere. If that’s the case, we’ll need to send someone out to look. Nets catch too many other birds that need looking after. When I was a child my Dad found Kingfishers and Bitterns and Peregrines and once a Hoopoe was caught in nets left by poachers. It was a very sorry sight.” 

Mrs Macready tutted several times and looked most upset. “If you could show me where you found them in the next few days, Susan that would be useful. I know you’re busy today.” 

To Margaret’s eyes, Susan looked a little guilty, but she offered to pluck and gut them with Margaret. Margaret was a little surprised a girl of twelve would do such a thing, but they set to, out behind the stables, Margaret bringing almost simmering water to plunge them in, then making short work of the feathers. The tail feathers of the cock bird, Susan had already removed and set aside. The rather more messy part of removing the innards, Margaret noticed Susan accomplished with minimal discomfort. She was certainly deft with the gizzard pulling and knife cutting around the vent. That was certain. For Margaret, it nearly always put her off eating poultry, at least for a few days, but with Susan’s assured assistance it was all done quickly with minimum fuss. They kept the kidneys and the livers aside for the stuffing. The bundle of damp smelly feathers and mess was buried on the edge of the kitchen garden. They washed the carcasses in cold water one last time before the birds were taken inside by Margaret, ready to be jointed. 

Margaret plonked them on the kitchen table with a satisfied sigh and said to Ivy,  
“You know that girl Susan; she was so ‘elpful just now. I’m normally gaggin’ fit to bust, the smell of wet feathers and guts an’ all, but she just threw ‘erself into it like she was polish’n the furniture an’ it were all done and dusted before I could say boo to a goose!”

“Well, whatchoo expect Margaret?” retorted Ivy, who was at the sink drying up the breakfast dishes. “These kids are passing strange, sure, but they do know ‘ow to make themselves useful. Next week, they’ll probably come ‘ome carryin’ a stag over their shoulders, shouldn’t wonder! But you need to watchya step Margaret, you’ll be mixin’ metaphors so hard you’ll whip yourself into a literary soufflé.” 

That comment was lost on Margaret, who just shrugged and said “Don’t know whatchoo talkin’ about,” before looking up a recipe for pheasant pie in Mrs Beeton’s. She thought she’d make up a brown sauce base using the kidneys and liver and some onions and maybe the large bowl of chanterelles that Lucy had collected and do a slow cook all day and make individual pies but she wanted to make sure she got the balance right… and choose the right herbs.

After a few moments, Ivy looked over her shoulder and said, “Maybe I’m not sure neither Margaret. Never guess what we saw last night, me and Betty. Three o’ them kids was out dancing in the bloomin’ moonlight around the older girl. Out there on the lawn. Caperin’ in moonbeams they was! Moonstruck I reckon. And know what else was funny? After they done it all that Susan wasn’t limping hardly at all. Whatchoo think about that!? Was she limping this morning?” 

Margaret looked back at Ivy thoughtfully. “You right about the limp. ‘Ardly noticeable. That ol’ liniment must a done its job then. But they was probably just rehearsing for something they plan to do tonight Ivy. Funny place to do it. But then why not? It were a lovely night. I kept my winder open a crack all last night and I swear I ‘eard a nightingale. You be careful now, you’ll be the one bein’ called moonstruck now. Mark my words Ivy.”

Ivy was most put out and showed it. She fairly clattered the last plates and bowls she was drying and flung the tea towels back over the handles of the range with bad grace.

“What about them funny mushrooms them kids brought in yesterday Margaret. You sure they safe?” 

Margaret had collected and cooked chanterelles several times before but she glanced over at the bowl and decided a second check of the contents might not be a bad idea. 

“Well if you can go through them please and make sure they’re all the same sort and no bad bits, that would be very fine. Mind you, I think there’s not quite enough of them. I’m wondering if you’d be able to go off on a ramble and find a few more this morning? 

Ivy didn’t need any encouragement. She grabbed a small knife and a bowl and skipped out the back door.

…

Polly

Easing out of the four-poster at a late half-past-eight and stretching her aging limbs, Polly awoke having made the most of her rest. That old four poster certainly offered something special: deep horsehair mattress, lovely sheets, tall carven posts and handsome drapery. After her long journey, the emotional upheaval and the long evening with Digory and Judith, she was pleased to note that she was waking with a sense of excited expectation. The sun light slanted in directly, filtering through the cherry trees with their small green fruit just beginning to swell. 

After washing and dressing, she playfully tried on her old riding habit. She had never been a wisp of a girl, but it was certainly too tight round the middle. She found that if she didn’t try to get it all the way up at the back, she was at least able to look at herself in the full length mirror and pretend. “Hmm”, she said to herself appraisingly, twirling slightly this way and that. “Oh, the waistline of the aging woman!”

…

Susan  
Mrs Macready had already put the word out and the land girls who were working the wider estate and staying with local families - whilst most of the able-bodied men were off fighting the war - were all invited to come to the big house after an early supper. There was a buzz of excitement in the air. 

Susan went and washed her hands, limping only slightly as she went up the stairs to the upper bathroom and gritting her teeth just a little. She was wishing she had let that silly plant fall. That moon dance had certainly worked wonders and she had slept better for it, but well… this wasn’t Narnia and she knew she would have to heal herself in the usual way. Aslan had always told them that the magic will not work the same way twice. She rubbed some more of the liniment into her thigh and calf muscles. 

By nine o’clock she was curled on a big leather armchair in the Library, with a red India-Rubber hot water bottle wrapped in a cloth on her leg, holding a note-pad and several sharpened pencils. Edmund and Lucy sat studiously at a table, each already writing furiously, pencil shavings scattered about. Lucy’s tongue was sticking out to the left. Edmund was playing with a golden curl endlessly with one finger. Peter was pacing about, muttering quietly to himself, gesticulating. It so reminded her of Cair Paravel. It could have been Peter preparing himself to welcome a delegation from Calormen, Edmund writing out a judgement to be read out at court, or Lucy writing honours to be sent to the corners of the land by the messenger birds. It brought a tear to her eye. It could have been only a week ago; except they were all less than half the age they had been.

She wondered what her piece might be about and whether she would be able to keep her emotions under control with all that she had lost. So she let multiple memories slide through her mind until she settled on one story that was less about her and more about a mysterious visitor who had appeared on their shores about eight years ago. With a secret smile on her face, she sucked the pencil point and set herself to writing a title. 

…

Peter

Peter the Magnificent took a rest from his composition and rehearsal and looked out of the Library window down the long park to the river, the sun filtering through the early summer haze, listening to his siblings sharpening pencils and scribbling. Susan had just come in. The family was all together much as they had been in Narnia at times. He was beginning to realise that being back had its benefits. He may have grown into the tall deep chested warrior-king-of-the-castle, but he had had the weight of his siblings and an entire nation on his shoulders. Indeed, with Narnia being the premier state amongst the cluster of Narnia, Galma, Terebinthia, The Lone Islands and Archenland, he had also been High King of those places too. 

That title had not been easy for the house of Helen and Frank to swallow in these other countries and it had taken more than a little diplomacy and downplay on his part to smooth the relationships. Clearly the four had somehow managed to eject Jadis and the winter with Aslan’s blessing and assistance. And as Jadis had never been known to step outside of Narnia and no Sons of Adam or Daughters of Eve from other nations had ever been able to get in during her reign, there was nothing much for these other sovereigns to do except embrace the new regime and welcome what it offered. 

Peter could now feel a vast magnificent space where an enormous weight had once been and he wondered what might come along to fill it. He was coming to realise that every challenge they had faced in Narnia just might be the mirror of something they had been prepared for here in England. It was whilst he pondered this that the troublesome northern border giants entered his mind but this time they had the faces of the school masters and bullies, the rugger coaches and burly opponents. And then he realised there were the Germans, the Italians and beyond them the Russians and Japanese. 

Oh no, being High King had maybe not been so bad. He had been able to take action and make a difference. In this world, he was far from being even an adult. He considered his words for the evening’s performance. Diplomacy. But he also couldn’t keep Rhindon out of this mind. Action. That was when he went searching through the house. He had an idea.

…

It had been decided belatedly that the household would have their supper after the performance to celebrate the end of the event, so it was a slightly hungry cast who sat quietly in the front row. They were fiddling with bits of paper, but otherwise looking quite confident and prepared. Susan was already out the front sitting on a low backed upholstered chair. The harp from the room hung with green had been brought into the ballroom for the occasion and Susan was holding it lovingly in her expert hands and leaning it on her good knee. She had been tuning it for the last hour. It was ready. A gong sat next to Lucy.

The women from the nearby estates were coming into the ballroom in threes and fours, murmuring. As they were beginning to file into their seats Susan began to pick a slow melody on the harp. 

[Readers, please consider play this piece at low volume whilst you read: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Tb7djNcxwg]

…

Ivy and Betty were hard put to find enough chairs in the house. A rug had been spread upon the floor with pillows and a few of the little ones sat. In all, about 16 young women and 5 older mothers and 2 grandmothers and 1 grandfather and 11 children of various ages. Some were still in their overalls and more than a few women had dark grease in their fingernails or a little straw in their hair. With the whole household present as well, it amounted to about 40 people.

Digory wore a bowtie. Polly had reluctantly consented to wear the pheasant plumes in her hair at Susan’s request. Judith, Margaret, Ivy and Betty took their seats on the ends of the rows. 

As Susan finished the piece, Digory walked forward and said in his husky smoker’s voice, 

“Welcome indeed to the House of Kirke. My family has been in this house for time out of mind but I am the last. The estate has been supported these many years by the four families who run the farms so capably and so lovingly. The women who have come from near and far to support our farms are most welcome here as you so enthusiastically fill the gap whilst the men bravely fight far away.”

“It has now been many years since the house itself has been graced by children. But during these times of trouble, we are very lucky to have these four staying here with us. They are the Pevensie children; Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy. They have found their time staying in this house has stirred their imaginations about many things from the far past and distant places. They have even come to consider what it might have been like for kings and queens living in big houses and fighting wars and as they have all been trained in music and other kinds of performance, I am sure you will find their efforts tonight most entertaining. To begin, I give you King Peter the Magnificent!”

Digory bowed slightly and took his seat. The audience clapped politely.

...

Now Peter stood and said in a low but clear voice, 

"And now I bid you settle and listen,  
your tongues be stilled, your eyes just glisten.

For Edmund King shall tell the tale,  
a part thereof, of dread betrayal,  
of treason and imprisonment,  
of sacrifice, of life redeemed. 

The Just Duke of Lantern Waste he is,  
a man of honour, and judgement bold,  
a heart of clemency and gold. 

You may not know what he intends,  
but believe him now, there’s no pretence.” 

 

Edmund now rose and pulling his cardigan about himself, walked slowly to the centre of the light looking slightly forlorn. He bowed low. His golden curls shone and the frown on his forehead deepened. He held a feathered goose quill which he stuck behind his ear. 

There was a silence. A muffled giggle and shuffling came from some of the audience. He held up his left hand and a strong boyish voice came out. It was half chant, half song.

 

"Know this, gentle friends. 

Upon a time deep snow did fall,  
In lands far hence beyond this hall,  
And there did misery abound,  
As cold that seeped out of the ground.

Whilst here the loneliest of all,  
A fearful child’s heart did call,  
For aid from whatever might respond,  
No care, no sorrow, no word of bond. 

A jealous plea to fill the void,  
To crush the ones who so annoyed,  
And a pain that clawed the soul,  
of one who felt... outlawed. 

By fate this angry, jealous, lonely one,  
Did leave this land of rain and sun,  
To journey thence into the snow,  
And there to make his power grow.

But what he was soon to discover  
Was that the cold was not his lover.  
Instead it sought to make him dread  
And send him to his mortal bed.” 

At this moment, Edmund took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his eyes. A chorus of sympathetic sounds came from the audience and a scattered bit of clapping with a hushed “poor little lad.” But Edmund was only getting started and he began again.

Susan began to play softly in the background.

[Readers, please play this piece at low volume whilst you read: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LcBvaAZ3aeM]

“Whereupon a glowing power deep,  
Erupting though mysterious portal,  
Came down to save him from this sleep,  
Of permanence and cold immortal.

It tossed its mane from far above,  
And embraced his soul with committed love.

Now, by taking on a path most grim  
And almost without any falter.  
It sacrificed itself for him,  
And took his place upon the altar. 

For on that dreadful beastly night  
The monsters crept to poke and grope,  
Under torch and candle light,  
To bind it tightly with long rope. 

The knife was long, the knife was keen,  
To cleave the velvet skin apart,  
It flash’d redly and was seen,  
To plunge into the Lion's Heart.”

There was a gasp from the audience. “It’s a Lion!”

Edmund now turned toward Lucy and Susan who were seen to have tears in their eyes.

“Sisters did witness this awful tale,  
And after when the rabble gone,  
Did caress the bloody carcass stale,  
when early dawn was cold and wan. 

But the path was laid for great renewal,  
So with the sun, the rock did crack,  
Reversing murder hard and cruel,  
And death itself went working back.

Until the golden thing did stand.  
Once more upon the blessed land,  
Where it did romp and roll and play,  
In joyousness, beneath the day.

It further shortly used its breath,  
On graceful hardened lumps of lime,  
To give the life renewed, not death,  
To many frozen cold in time.

So with living army on its tail,  
It raced into the battle bold,  
And made a leap that could not fail,  
Onto the source of deadly cold. 

It roared and clawed, then bit and wrenched.  
Blood immortal of ancient fable,  
Onto the natural ground was drenched,  
Instead of on the grisly table.

So from the field of death,  
Many corpses sadly did they bring,  
But all now could take a deep breath,  
From the haze of glorious new-come spring.

Later, onward down the valley, all did sally,  
Towards the foaming river mouth,  
And a pillared castle behind its bailey,  
facing t'ward both east and south. 

Now there, on thrones all in a row,  
With cheering ringing to their vows,  
Four youthful queens and kings did glow,  
As crowns were lowered onto their brows.” 

… Edmund paused for a moment

“And so the golden age began,  
But midst the cavorting and the gladness,  
The gift of faith from great Aslan,  
There was a thread of profound sadness,.

For whilst the voices rose in hymn,  
That pure spirit gently glowing,  
Departed, and both hide and limb ,  
Wandered off, no word of going.” 

Susan made a few closing plucks and strums in a minor key on the harp and Edmund bowed low again. 

...

The audience clapped and then settled before Peter stepped forward again and turning to Edmund he called loudly in a mock commanding voice, 

 

“Now brother mine!  
Fast friends we now shall ever be!  
Between the mountains and the sea!  
Defend each other’s lives we shall!  
Until what end we know not well! 

But I bet you couldn’t swing a bat!  
To save the life of your dear cat!  
So now the time has come along!  
To lose the bet, or prove me wrong!” 

With that, Peter leapt up onto a chair and expertly unhooked two sabres that had been displayed in a cross over the mantle. He tossed one to Edmund who caught it neatly, followed by a leather gardening glove. 

There was a gasp. There were no shields or helmets. 

Peter paused on the chair, getting his own glove on and watched Edmund advance. With a balletic leap, Peter left the chair and with a twist in the air to the left, skidded along the floor with his sword held high until he reached the far wall. He threw himself from there and advanced immediately to meet Edmund. With fiercely grinning faces they threw themselves into the fray. 

With a clatter and a clash, they kept well clear of their audience and danced about up and down the length of the ballroom with no pause. Children were standing on mother’s knees and people were craning their heads to watch Edmund and Peter stabbing, ducking, almost slashing at each other’s legs and arms and necks with the blades. Edmund deflecting a parry from Peter, and lunging back at him, Peter riposting back and then jumping as Edmund’s blade threatening to slash his ankles. There was a terrified “whooh!” from the audience and a “Steady on boys, someone will have an ear off in a minute”. 

Without stopping, Edmund pulled off his cardigan in one fluid movement and began to use it as a baffle and to tangle in Peter’s feet. The crowd gave some shrill shrieks as Peter appeared to be in trouble but he flicked the cardigan away expertly where it landed in the audience and their blades clashed, as they gave parry after opposition parry and worked their way up the room again, blades flashing in the lamplight. 

It was Edmund who leapt up high and using a peculiar double twist, forced Peter to release his sword, which clattered on the floor and Edmund stamped upon it neatly. They both stood panting and grinning, Peter rubbing his main sword arm a little ruefully. 

The audience was agog. Some of the little children were rather wide eyed and needed comforting. But it had all been very exciting and there was a huge applause. 

Lucy now stood and kissed both her brothers looking a little relieved herself. Edmund sat down next to her and held her hand.

Peter took a few moments to gain his breath and then said.

“I will but give you a short tale,  
Lest this night become quickly stale,  
Of the day we battled giants tall,  
Upon the nation’s northern wall. 

For they were huge and they were mean,  
And we were young and still quite green,  
We really found that we were frettin’,  
I bet you’ve never met an Ettin! 

We quailed in front of this ogrish horde,  
They stamped and roared,  
They belched and farted,  
The smell choked us before we’d started.”

 

There was a “Well I never!” and a “Really!” and a few suppressed titters at these words.

The children on the floor giggled with glee at the naughty word. Digory’s eyes sparkled. Polly looked prim. Mrs Macready put her head in her hands. 

“But when the battle did begin,  
We found we came up to their shin,  
Arrows flew and boulders thudded,  
And thus the ground was sorely blooded. 

So quickly now we got some distance,  
And called for extra strong assistance,  
Gryphons dove and raked their claws,  
Big cats leapt up and applied their jaws. 

Into the fray the centaurs sprinted,  
Shooting arrows freshly minted,  
Unicorns stabbed their horns towards,  
Whilst soldiers wielded sharpened swords. 

The fauns they ran both to and fro,  
Their spears they jabbed but didn’t throw,  
Into the ogrish toes and thighs,  
And stones slungshot into their eyes. 

But Gentle Susan Narnian Queen,  
Threw many a bolas into the scene,  
Her followers flung jute strongly netted,  
Our giantish enemies were thusly fettered. 

And when the ugly king hit ground,  
We all were deafened by the sound,  
Of thunder breaking all around,  
And pelting rain began to pound. 

Suffice to say, we won the day,  
And we survived to surely say,  
That Giants do not like the rain,  
It gives them the worst kind of pain. 

For as the raining skies did pelter,  
The giants ran home helter skelter,  
To hide inside their giant castle,  
No more to plan to make us vassal.

So fair folk, ere my tale ends,  
If dearest Susan still intends,  
To lend her tongue to your enjoyment,  
You may well learn of her employment. 

As chatelaine of a great castle,  
Resisting ploys to make her vassal,  
By foreign kings and princes dashing,  
My only hope as I now sit is to avoid a pillow bashing.”

There was much laughter as he flicked his eyes mock-fearfully towards his sister. The audience clapped and cheered Peter as he took his bow. 

…

“I now present Queen Susan the Gentle”, announced Peter clearly, before Susan then rose and kissed her brother fondly and they swapped places, this time Peter at the harp.

Susan limped only a little and the smell of liniment was in the air. She was dressed in night-gown, slippers and dressing gown. She managed to swirl slightly but could not manage the full curtsey she had performed at the station. Her hair was now plaited and out the way, but she had wound a garland of spring leaves around her head. 

“Fair damsels and squires fine. I shall not tonight tell you tales of my former life. Instead my tale is about a brave young man whom I once knew. Cast out from his family and home to find his fate, he found himself upon the shore of a blessed land. In some small part I tell the tale of ‘The Cast Out Son of the Seven Isles’ or ‘The Mysterious Fate of Daimyo Ichiro’” 

Lucy struck the gong once, twice and three times. Peter began on the harp. 

[Readers please consider listening to this piece on low volume whilst you read: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gwo0OgRnTR0]

"Know this,"  
Susan said, tilting her chin and looking them steadily in the eye one by one, her eyes sombre.

“Upon a time a lonely prince  
from Seven Isles did shrink and wince,  
For since he was a little child,  
he found that he was meek and mild,  
Without an interest in the sword,  
its shining length did make him bored. 

The wrestling mat did he demur,  
An artists brush did he prefer,  
Or telling tales,  
To garden snails  
Yet destined king he was to be,  
A role he dreaded like the sea.

Oh what a problem this became,  
his father shouting hot as flame,  
‘The sea, the sword, the wrestling ring  
Must all be domains of the king!  
King of the Isles must travel often  
Or else the realm's ed-ges will soften!’

‘Get thee to the port today!  
And get aboard Atakebune!  
Or even to a worn out Junk,  
I care not which, you useless klunk,  
Upon no cushion will you settle,  
From now on in you'll prove your mettle!’

So to the noisy port was driven,  
This lonely lad, his heart not given,  
To any who would miss him much,  
Except his rabbits in their hutch,  
His brushes black and paper white,  
And the winds on which he flew his kite.

As well of course his queenly mother,  
Wrapped in kimonos to smother,  
Her white limbs and her great sadness,  
To see her son sent off in madness,  
His fate to be she knew not what,  
She hoped he’d find a cosy cot.

But his fate that day was something worse,  
He felt that he lived in a curse,  
For so t'was on a great big Junk,  
His stomach lurching in a funk,  
Our reluctant prince did leave his shore,  
Anxiety oozing from every pore.

It was not long till storms arose,  
The cabin door now firmly closed,  
Our prince was in a piteous plight,  
The storms went on for day and night,  
His heaving stomach wrenched and sore,  
His vomit spread upon the floor” 

At this point there were some screeching titters from the audience. Susan smiled and waggled her eyebrows and widened her eyes.

“His fears came true, it must be said,  
Loud to the ocean gods he pled.  
Too soon they answered to his call,  
The ship struck reefs out in this squall,  
It lurched and tipped, possessions spread,  
His bed was now above his head!

He thought his fate was to be crushed,  
But into his cabin water rushed,  
Its coldness moving to his core,  
But it bore him up and out the door,  
Before the surface our prince did break,  
He fought for air, his lungs did ache.

There midst the crushing crack and boom,  
A rugged face of rock did loom,  
A desperate bid for life he thought,  
It would likely all just come to nought,  
But on and on and on he fought,  
Till in strong arms found he was caught.

His head was held up by the scruff!  
But gently and quite high enough  
To breathe and cough and splutter well  
And float upon the cold dark swell,  
How long he was carried on this way,  
Nobody knows until this day. 

Then a low voice spoke in his ear,  
A voice that helped him calm his fear,  
"If you can hold on but a little,  
I'll get you to a good hospital,"  
The prince could not believe his ears,  
And thought his mind had lost its gears. 

So assuming he was hallucinating,  
He began the task of ruminating,  
On whether he was even dead,  
And on the ocean floor instead,  
Of floating in the arms of one,  
Who swam him out into the sun.

With waters warm and and aqua lighted  
Far away from ship benighted  
Daimyo Ichiro thanked his stars that day  
Whilst in those muscular arms did lay  
Propelled towards a sandy beach  
T’ward helping hands which did then reach.

They wrapped him then in blankets warm,  
And told him to forget the storm,  
Whilst plying him with warming drink,  
That was real enough he now did think,  
Its healing liquid through him rushing,  
Banning chill and causing blushing.

So prince turned round to thank his saviour,  
To find that rolling on the wave there,  
Was a merman or ningyo wild,  
Who gave a wink and smile mild,  
Before blowing on a huge conch shell,  
And diving back into the swell.

His fishes tail the last part seen  
He disappeared into the green

Our prince now looked about him more,  
And found to his surprise were four,  
Queens and Kings in robes resplendent,  
With many a curious royal attendant.  
Thus came he to Cair Paravel,  
And there he did live very well.

With joy and love and peace and lore,  
That now he knew he'd missed before,  
Within his father's fortress strong,  
And so it was that before long,  
He came to call the castle home,  
Cair Paravel, no more to roam.” 

And so Susan finished and Peter plucked the last chords on the harp. There was a silence before a smattering of clapping. This time, with Peter’s support, Susan managed a semblance of her graceful curtsey whilst he completed the movement with a martial click of his heels. 

The sounds of the harp for this piece had sounded a little alien to English ears, but the pathos of the story about a young man in exile, and estranged from his loving but passive mother by a bullying father had not been lost on the audience. The plight of the refugees of Europe were on more than a few minds. There were a few tears. 

Once the audience had settled again, Peter spoke again.

“But now that we four have departed,  
Perhaps from Narnia ever parted,  
Daimyo must wonder what to do,  
How did he get into this stew?  
And whether he should regent be?  
Or back to Seven Isles flee? 

And we know not what the Lion intends,  
For left behind are many friends,  
We trust as close as life itself,  
So hope we have, the nation’s health,  
Will be in hands both strong and trusty,  
The seats of power not cold and musty.

But exiled here we worry so,  
Else Peridan and Daimyo,  
Or offspring of the Galman Duke,  
May find occasion to rebuke,  
Each other or far worse to slaughter,  
The heroic Terebinthian daughter. 

So many came to grace those shores,  
To assist the re-establishment of laws,  
That freed the dryads and sylvan trees,  
The fauns from schools and tithes and fees,  
The Talking Beasts from evil drudgery,  
And Dwarves from self-inflicted injury. 

But when empty seats of power sit,  
And none can then be found to fit,  
The roles of Diplomat or Warrior,  
Celebrant, Scold or Battle Doctor,  
Counsellor, Clerk or Host Ingraced,  
We pray Aslan ‘Please act with haste.’” 

There was a polite spate of clapping, but some of the words and most of the meaning had been unknown to the audience and it wasn’t very interesting to most, although the idea of fauns not having to go to school caused some mirth, with some imagining the young of fallow deer capering out of classrooms, scattering slates, chalk, nibs and ink wells in their wake. 

"Now last but not least, allow me to introduce my royal sister Queen Lucy the Valiant!" cried Peter in ringing tones. 

"She it was who put faith and friendship first and showed us the path to loving forgiveness, a higher power and a new day.”

Lucy was dressed in a simple pleated wool skirt down past her knees with thick flannel socks and buckled shoes. Her buttons shone like pearls, her hair clips like a silver crown in the candle light. Nothing like her gowns and crowns of the recent past. She stood up and walked to the corner of the room and curtseyed deeply. She also wore a red woollen scarf and carried a handful of darts. 

She walked to the right side of the room and removed a cloth which covered an easel. Upon the easel was a large sisal dartboard.

"Oh fair and loyal subjects all!" Lucy cried. “Before I tell the hopeful tale about the end to this war of woe that knocks about our head and brings us feelings of greatest dread, I shall demonstrate the little skill that I learned to help save the lives of those in dire straits.” she finished, her seven year old features slightly troubled. 

Lucy then walked to the far left of the ballroom in front of her audience with her back to the dartboard which was now about twenty five feet away. Peter wrapped the red woollen scarf about her eyes and oriented her, before in rapid succession Lucy flung seven darts hand over hand straight at the dartboard. Not only did they all hit the board, all but three hit the central disk. The audience huffed with approval and more than a little fright. 

She took the scarf off and gave them all a cheeky grin and said in her little-girl voice,  
“I hope my humble demonstration shows that with a bit of practice, faith and devotion that one can achieve many things that might be thought impossible. I never aimed to kill, but only wound and I was nearly always accurate”, she explained sweetly and innocently.

A shiver went through the audience and most of the farm children who could understand gulped and stared wide eyed at her.

“But what I really want to do is help you to imagine that this horrible war is over and that it has been your valiant efforts on this soil that have helped bring it about. I call it the Day of Hope and Rejoicing. And afterwards I want you to help me sing a song. If you could all stand and hold hands please.”

The audience rose and obeyed her request.

Queen Lucy the Valiant closed her eyes, clasped her hands in front of her heart and breathed silently for a moment. Then she opened her eyes and looked upon her audience with a look of golden joy. She needed no harp.

"May these days that come,  
Be the gladdest days of your lives!  
For you took great thought and you have striven,  
Yea, you have fought and you have given. 

Shelter to the many weary,  
The lost and blamed, their lives so teary,  
From far off lands, their lives invaded,  
Destroyed by hate and fear blockaded.

We long for a world where all are free,  
To be as God made us to be,  
All differences a wondrous thing,  
Distinction a great gift we bring.

But closely has this war been won,  
With loss to all, no heart not wrung,  
So many passed from this fair land,  
It is for them we now here stand!

Still not your tears,  
For, know this dears,  
In battle, glory is rarely found,  
But there is another truth profound.

We are like to find it on this ground,  
Amongst our friends who gather round,  
For it is only with our tears and friends,  
That we can hope to make amends. 

For what then lies before us, yes,  
Is the long road to blessedness,  
Forgiveness, and Love and Faith combine,  
I’ll finish now, the pleasure mine.” 

Lucy looked upon the groups of children and mothers and then the old farmer man. He was smiling through tears and his daughter was mopping her own face whilst she clutched his hand.

The old man stood up with some effort and held out his hand. Lucy came forward and took it gently and he let it be known that he wanted to sing. Everyone listened intently and he began in a quavery light baritone: 

“Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye  
Cheerio, here I go, on my way  
Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye  
Not a tear, but a cheer, make it gay” 

Despite his words, there were plenty of tears, but he sang through them and this gave courage to everyone else to join him. Those who knew the words sang with him and in a moment the whole room was in song. Susan took up the harp and Lucy a wooden pipe. The entire song was sung until its very end.

[Readers please consider listening to this piece on low volume whilst you read: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W7DdGKLI8po]

"Give me a smile I can keep all the while  
In my heart while I'm away

Till we meet once again, you and I  
Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye  
Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye  
Cheerio, here I go on my way  
Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye  
Not a tear, but a cheer, make it gay  
Give me a smile I can keep all the while  
In my heart while I'm away

T"ill we meet once again, you and I  
Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye  
Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye  
Cheerio, here I go, on my way  
Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye  
Not a tear, but a cheer, make it gay  
Give me a smile I can keep all the while  
In my heart while I'm away

Till we meet once again you and I  
Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye...  
Goodbye everybody, I'll do my best for ye"

There was not a dry eye in the house and next moment one of the land girls came forward and asked Susan if she could play the harp. She took up the instrument and began a few bars and then everyone except the youngest children knew what she intended. It was Dannyboy. Again the voices rang out but there was some sobbing also and some hugs all round.

[Readers please consider listening to one of these pieces on low volume whilst you read:  
Harp Instrumental - Jeannine Goeckeritz - Tamara Oswald: https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=dannyboy+with+harp+music&view=detail&mid=F1BA7DCC528E564A27A2F1BA7DCC528E564A27A2&FORM=VIRE  
Al Jolson: https://archive.org/details/AlJolson-1930sCollection-131-140]

“Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling,  
From glen to glen and down the mountain side,  
The summer's gone and all the roses falling,  
It's you, it's you, must go and I must bide, 

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow,  
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow,  
It's I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow,  
Oh, Danny boy, oh, Danny boy, I love you so.

But when ye come and all the flowers are dying,  
If I am dead and dead I well may be,  
You'll come and find the place where I am lying,  
And kneel and say an 'Ave' there for me. 

And I shall hear tho' soft you tread above me,  
And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be,  
For you will bend and tell me that you love me,  
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.”

…

After a pause and a lot of blowing of noses, it was high time for a bit of jollity and light hearted fun again, so Polly stepped forward, pheasant feathers jaunty, and thinking of the incident the day before she began: 

[Please consider playing Gracie Field - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6XROMw3Z4e0]

“For years we had an aspidistra in a flower pot,  
On the whatnot, near the 'atstand in the 'all” 

This was a well-known favourite and in a moment nearly every person was belting it out as if there was no tomorrow. 

“It didn't seem to grow 'til one day our brother Joe,  
Had a notion that he'd make it strong and tall,  
So he's crossed it with an acorn from an oak tree ,  
And he's planted it against the garden wall,  
It shot up like a rocket, 'til it's nearly reached the sky,  
It's the biggest aspidistra in the world,  
We couldn't see the top of it, it got so bloomin' high,  
It's the biggest aspidistra in the world…”

They kept going with that one and there were a few more tunes, but everyone was getting tired and some had a walk ahead of them. So in a while, the land girls and the farming people took their leave and gave their thanks. Then going out the doors, the sound of singing drifted on through the early moonlight dusk, until they were all out of earshot. 

… 

Polly

It was only after this was over that Polly realised she had probably looked a little like the engraving of the bosomy matron in the pillared hall singing to the Regency Period audience, except there was no parrot.

Finally, it was time for supper.


	6. The Riding Habit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The post performance supper is delicious, except for one strange morsel and a ritual is held in the dining room once the servants have gone to wash up. Digory and Polly are left rather discomfited by both these events and after retiring for the night begin to have strange experiences.

The Riding Habit  
…  


Margaret  


With all the visitors now gone, the household converged hungrily on the dining room. The pack up of the ballroom could wait until tomorrow.  
Margaret, Betty and Ivy marched off to the kitchen and brought in large flat bowls, each with a mash of potato, a pile of fresh peas and a small individually made pie. There being nine people to eat and only eight small joints of pheasant, Margaret had opted to make pies to make the meat and flavour go round. She had fashioned a beautiful little Irish shamrock leaf on each pie for the occasion, as a nod to the harp music.  


“Capital!” exclaimed Digory, when he saw them presented. Mrs Macready was a little emotional and covered it with a cough into her hand.  
However, when the time came to eat, with everyone else tucking in and saying how nice it all was, Ivy and Betty only ate their potatoes and peas and said they weren’t very hungry. To fill up they nibbled on a little bread and butter, watching the rest with a wary eye. Margaret wondered what had got into them and decided Ivy must still be put out over not being taken seriously about the moon capering and that Betty was joining her protest.  


This meant there was more to go round, and in due course, their pies were cut in halves and redistributed to Digory who said he had always loved pheasant, Polly who declared a passion for chanterelles and Peter and Edmund, simply because they were growing boys with bottomless stomachs.  


…  


Digory  
The food was delicious, although Digory noted a slightly stronger fungal note in the pie he and Polly shared. When all was finished, everyone helped clear the table and then Ivy, Margaret and Betty went off to the kitchen to clean up. Mrs Macready retired saying she needed a sleep catch up after the previous few days.  


This provided a moment that had been missed in the ballroom and Peter stood up.  


“Dear friends of Narnia” he declared quietly. “The time has come, for some honours to be bestowed upon those who have long waited for recognition. Please be upstanding.”  


Lucy clapped her hands in delight whilst Edmund and Susan exchanged indulgent glances. They all stood; Digory and Polly a little uncertainly.  
“Edmund? Susan?” Peter asked.  


They stood up and walked to the end of the table and shifted three of the dining chairs. The carver was placed against the wall and two others about five feet opposite. Peter sat on the carver and Edmund handed him one of the sabres, which he placed across his knees.  


“We want to thank you both for being such stalwart supporters of us since we returned. Aslan clearly has sent Miss Plummer in the nick of time. We believe Aslan means for us to get your help to live back here in the best way we can. In honour of that and in honour of your own history, we wish to give some formal recognition to you both in relation to your efforts as children to return Jadis to her home world and when that failed, to help protect Narnia from her influence, which was successful for many hundreds of years. We have talked it over and we are sure that Aslan sent us to this house so that we might go to Narnia and finish your task and for that we were rewarded with many years of adventure, leadership and bliss.”  


"So it is, that I, Peter the Magnificent, High King of Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands and King over all other Kings of Narnia, do solemnly declare that two long-time friends of Narnia are long overdue the recognition they deserve. I bid Professor Digory Kirke and Miss Polly Plummer take their seats before us and bid that this event be duly witnessed by Queen Susan the Gentle, King Edmund the Just and Queen Lucy the Valiant.”  


He waited patiently until everyone took their places. Digory felt rather nervous; Polly looked slightly horrified. Digory knew she was a republican, after all.  


“Be it known that according to the just laws of Narnia, and the undoubted wishes of Aslan the Great Lion, that henceforth, thou shalt be known as Lord Digory of the Apple and Lady Polly of the Rings, Peers of the Realm, Guardians of the Lantern, Counsellors of the Narnian Privy Chamber.”  


Peter extended the sabre and touched each on the right shoulder then the left shoulder in turn. Then he kissed them each on the forehead once.  


“Arise, Lord Digory of the Apple! Arise Lady Polly of the Rings!”  


Polly rose unsteadily to her feet, Digory was more emotional and stayed where he was, a tear on his cheek, not sure where to look. Polly tugged at his arm and bent down, “Oh, get up, we’ve got to get this over with!” she hissed in his ear.  


Digory struggled up. Susan came forward smiling and handed each of them a scroll of thick paper and embraced and kissed them twice, once on each cheek.  


Peter laid the sword down and said, “We thank the Lord Digory and Lady Polly! May your faithful service to the realm and to Aslan continue for many years to come! ”  


The rest cheered. Then they all got down on bended knee in front of Digory and Polly.  


“Oh stop it!” exclaimed Polly. “We can’t have that going on around the place here! Stand up! If you must call me something, just call me Aunt Polly.”  
And so it was, that they all went to bed by 10 o'clock feeling replete. The children certainly felt much more settled than they had, but Polly and Digory were feeling just the opposite.  


…  


Polly  


By the time Polly finally staggered into her room she was feeling decidedly peculiar; quite nauseous in fact. So she sat on her bed holding her stomach and sipped some water, breathing unsteadily.  


“Of all the stunts for those children to pull” she said to herself out loud. She doubted she would sleep now.  


She flopped onto her bed, closed her eyes and tried to relax. But the churning and nausea continued.  


It had brought back many memories. The vibrations of the bell. The crumbling city and the tremors under that dying red sun. The heel of Jadis kicking Digory in the teeth and her own desperate efforts to hang on and get her hand on the yellow ring. The confusion in the Wood Between the Worlds and then finding themselves in the darkness before a New World’s Dawn, waiting for they knew not what.  


Then, after about fifteen minutes, just as she thought she might vomit, the sensation passed. In its place she felt strangely uplifted, as if she were floating. Then she realised she was feeling rather adventurous. All that versage in the ballroom came to mind and she realised she wanted to do daring things.  
The thought of going for a ride on a horse in the moonlight rather tickled her.  


She giggled a little and slipped off her clothes and wriggled into her old riding habit, rather amazed at herself. “No matter,” she said to herself “But what now? Digory…”  


With everyone gone to bed, she thought she might go and interrupt Digory and have a laugh at his discomfiture when she flounced in with her old riding habit on and not done up at the back. He had become a staid and slightly introspective fellow in his old age and she thought it might be fun to stir him up a bit.  


So she dug around in the wardrobe and found her old riding boots and holding them in her hands, slipped down the passage in her socked feet toward Digory's room.  


Uncharacteristically, she barged in without knocking. Astoundingly, Digory was sitting on the edge of his bed, in his underclothes, rocking to and fro, giggling to himself. He didn’t even look up when Polly entered. She bent close and stared at him. His eyes were very dark; almost no iris to be seen.  
“I feel like I could climb the air in front of me” He clawed at the space between them. "Polly, what's happening to me? Teeheeheehee!” he giggled some more.  


"I don't know! Whatever do you mean by that? But Digory, listen. Do you remember the day you gave me this riding habit? She twirled about slightly stumpily, the back open, revealing her chemise.  


Digory burst out laughing some more. "Well I never remember seeing your underclothing before! Oh Polly, I hate to say it, but that habit doesn’t really fit. Bahahaha!” 

He rolled onto the bed laughing.  


Polly swore at him, “Speak for yourself! You’re not a pretty picture in your nickers and singlet either! Get off that bed you useless lump!”  


She began to twirl a coil of her hair round and round, round and round, round and round, whilst making mooing noises and opening and closing her mouth to make it sound a little like a siren.  


Digory abruptly said, “Let’s get warm in front of the fire!” and promptly went over to the stone cold fireplace and sat down cross legged, holding out his hands as if there was a roaring blaze. Polly joined him and in a moment they were pretending to toast marshmallows on invisible sticks.  


But Polly pretty quickly became bored with that.  


“Look Digs, put something on, would you? We are going on an adventure!”  


“Sounds fun, but where?”  


“Doesn’t matter. Just get some clothes on. Where's your riding gear Digs? We’re going riding anyway.”  


She crawled over to his chest of drawers and pulled a drawer open.  


“Come on Digs, we need a shirt and a nice jacket for you. Hurry up, we haven’t got all night!”  


Digory got up creakily and shuffled over. He got out a pair of jodhpurs and a shirt from the drawers and a jacket from the rack and some riding boots from the bottom of the wardrobe.  


Polly had to help him get the jodhpurs on. They were a squeeze but they got on in the end. Digory had been a slim young man.  


“Lucky thing, they still fit you! Don’t put your boots on! We don’t want anyone else to know what we are doing!”  


Whilst he got dressed, Polly made clopping sounds “tloh-tloh-tloh!” with her tongue and pranced about as if she was a child on a hobby horse, holding the train of her riding habit up with a loop attached to her wrist.  


He giggled helplessly.  


Polly made a characteristically sobre statement.  


“Digs, there was something in that last pie we ate.”  


“Really?”  


Then after a pause he said, “Certainly. Liberty Caps grow hereabouts. Maybe someone slipped a few into that last pie we ate. It tasted pretty strange.”  


“Ivy!” “Betty!” they both said at the same time, then laughed, staring wide eyed into each other’s faces. They knew they were right.  


“They refused to eat any pie, remember?”  


“The horrors! Come on! Let’s go and teach them a lesson!”  


Polly thwacked her riding crop against the door jamb on the way out.  


…  


They crept out the door, carrying their boots and tried to walk quietly along the corridor, nearly bumping into suits of armour and marble busts on pillars, bursting into fits of giggling which they suppressed unsuccessfully.  


At the end of the upstairs passage was a small bright window and for a moment Polly was transfixed staring at the moon.  


"Polly, stop looking at that. Be sensible, I know where we are going! Follow me. We’re going to punish those girls. Naughty Ivy. Naughty Betty”  


Digory grabbed Polly's free hand and went down a stair and then up a stair, into another upstairs passage. But try as they might, they became increasingly disoriented and couldn’t seem to find the main stairs to get down to the servant’s quarters.  


“Here we are” said Digory at last. They waited at the door for a moment, chests heaving with exertion and adrenalin, crops at the ready to strike Ivy into a frenzy and then Digory quietly opened the door. It creaked slightly and they crept into her room. Moonlight slanted down. Ivy’s bed was not to be seen.  


There was only a wardrobe.  


“Where’s her bed gone?”  


Then they suddenly realised where they were.  


“Oooh Digory!” Polly breathed.  


This was much more interesting.  


“Shall we? Come on, let’s get our boots on” he said, not waiting for an answer.  


Digory undid the latch of the wardrobe, heart beating hard. Mothballs rolled out, dropping onto the floor, rolling like marbles before knocking into the skirting.  


He sat on the window sill and pulled his riding boots on. Then he helped Polly do the same, although using the tool for the laces in the moonlight was a bother. But they got there in the end… more or less.  


Digory then gave Polly his hand and helped her step in, the train of her riding habit quite an encumbrance. For himself, he simply crawled in, leaving the door ajar behind him.  


…

Polly found herself pushing through loads of fur coats.  


“Digory, why did your family collect so many fur coats? And why is this wardrobe so deep?”  


There was no answer.  


Polly panicked and tried to turn around. She was caught in the fur coats and then found herself tumbling down… onto a body and snowy ground.  


There was a muffled curse and a young man’s winded voice was heard to say “Oh, for crying out loud Polly, why did you have to fall on me?”  


Polly scrambled up, fur coats falling around her, wondering who had said that.  


She finally disencumbered herself and stood breathing in fresh cold air. At her feet someone got athletically to his feet and they stood staring at each other in wonder and amazement.  


It was Digory but as he had looked when he was about seventeen years old!  


“Polly, I had forgotten how beautiful you were when you were young!”  


She thwacked him with her riding crop for such a backhanded compliment.  


But his eyes crinkled, their natural clear light hazel and his smile said it all. They were back in Narnia. And her riding habit fitted like a glove.  


Digory helped button her up.  


…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Riding Habits were a statement of class which helped over-ride resistance to the notion of women riding horses. They were often cut in a semi-masculine manner, made of very stout fabric and usually buttoned up left over right in the manner of a man's jacket.
> 
> "Psilocybe semilanceata, commonly known as the liberty cap, is a psilocybin or "magic" mushroom that contains the psychoactive compounds psilocybin, psilocin and baeocystin. It is both one of the most widely distributed psilocybin mushrooms in nature, and one of the most potent." (accessed from Wikipedia) 
> 
> Naughty Ivy deliberately picked a few Liberty Caps and slipped them into one of the pies, no doubt intending for Susan or one of the other children to eat it; to teach her a lesson about getting moonstruck. But in the event, both she and Betty (who was in on the game) lost track of which pie was which, so they chose not to eat any pie at all. As it turns out it was Ivy's pie that had the Liberty Caps in, and no doubt if she had partaken, it would have been herself having an unusual experience. But as is usual in children's stories and morality tales, wicked people end up buying into the bigger designs of the guiding spirits. Thus it was, that Polly and Digory began to have a "trip" which propelled them into the Wardrobe and so on to the real beginning of this adventure.


	7. Your dearest, bravely yours, ever...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is important to pause in the main narrative at this point in order to give a more intimate picture of the histories of Polly and Digory. Having returned from Narnia when they were still children there have been crucial moments in their lives as single people of advancing age that we really should know about. For not only does Narnia give responsibility to its visitors from our world, it also gives its rewards and lasting memories as we shall see in later chapters.

Your dearest, bravely yours, ever...  
…  
When Digory had been twenty six, he had completed his Master of Letters at Oxford and became a tutor and occasional lecturer in Classics. Buried in study for years, he had remained a lonely and socially backward person and it was now only his tutoring work that gave him the interaction that he so desperately needed.

So it was, that one day fate dealt Digory an interesting hand when we went visiting in the library of a neighbouring college that he had come across another young man, head bent over his books, thick black hair tousled, and several pages of notes scattered haphazardly across the table. 

Digory had settled to the other side, a thick green leather tome gently lowered and opened to the index. At the time, Digory was researching a fascinating and obscure piece of literature that he was using to prepare a lecture on Spartan military philosophy. 

But try as he might, he could not bring himself to concentrate. The presence of his neighbour was a distraction and he found himself staging head scratchings and staring at high windows for long moments so he could shift his gaze to cross his neighbour and get a better glance. 

It was on one of these quick passes that he suddenly noticed that the young man was jolly well staring at him! Digory was mortified.

The young man reached across and thrust his hand at Digory. "The name's Robert. Robert Pearson."

Digory flushed and only managed a mumbled reply before a late rally. He grasped the hand and shook it, then stammered,

"I, I, I'm Digory Kirke. Classics and Ethics”, he added to fill the gap of his nervousness.  
This Robert Pearson’s gaze was intense and disarming. His dark brown eyes seemed to look right into Digory and Digory found himself sinking into their inky depths… and flushing again. He was not sure where to look. 

Robert's hand finally withdrew. “Commerce and Law”, he said formally. 

But he added, "I've noticed you about. I wondered when we would have the chance to speak, and here you are right across the table from me. I must say, old boy, you seem like a hard one to get to know." 

For poor Digory, this was all too provoking, but what was to be said anyway?

So instead of retrieving his belongings and beating a hasty retreat, he just stared helplessly back and picked his fingers under the large desk. 

First Robert laughed quietly, but then his expression shifted and he said kindly, "I am sorry, I really didn't mean to embarrass you. It is just that there are so many fellows about here who seem to be consumed with drinking and finding girls, and getting engaged that when you notice the ones who are not, it really is rather refreshing."

It turned out that Robert was in his final year at the neighbouring college and had come to use this wing of this library for his own research. Digory and Robert became very good friends rather quickly and soon were the closest of companions and were almost inseparable in their spare time.

For Digory, the advent of this understanding that they developed was a revelation. It was on a trip on the train down to Dorset that they first kissed, in the middle of an empty train compartment. It was daring and stirring and tantalisingly sinful, but apart from Digory’s special moments as a child with Aslan and Polly and the Apple for his Mother Mabel, there was nothing as an adult which had ever felt just so right! How could this much joy and surrender ever be considered a sin? Digory’s intellectual powers were on fire with the issue.  
Robert was a little more experienced at this sort of thing but he was so respectful and so sensitive and exercised restraint with such charm, that Digory could not but fall in love with him even more.  
It was young love after a long delay. Whenever one was further afield, they corresponded several times a week and swore undying fidelity. 

But life, family demands and social attitudes such as they were, the (relatively recent) case about Oscar Wilde and the need to get money in, took their toll. Robert came from Alderley on the edge of Manchester and his family looked darkly upon Digory, despite his clumsy attempts to charm them. They seemed to know instinctively their own son’s inclinations and did all they could to draw Robert back to the north for a stable career as a merchant lawyer and a marriage to a sensible young woman.  


On the other hand, Mabel and Alexander were always happy to entertain a friend of their precious son. Robert was included as one of the family for two years and often came to stay and he got along famously with Polly as well when they finally met.  


And Mabel could not remain ignorant of the source of her renewed life. The memory of Digory’s arrival in her sad room in the row house in Camden with the strangely glowing Apple and her strange hunger for it, until she fell asleep, remained with her vividly. It all felt like a dream but she knew in her heart it was not. On several occasions since this event, she had been prompted to ask more deeply into the Apple’s origins and surrounding events and as she had drummed into Digory to always be honest and tell the truth, he could not keep it a secret from her. Initially Mabel had been rather puzzled by Digory’s quiet maintenance of the unlikely fanciful story and went along with it merely to humour him. But when she and Alexander had questioned Polly about it all over breakfast one morning down in Dorset and much the same story came tumbling out, they really had to accept it on face value. The story was too rich and too consistent to have been made up by a young boy or a young girl. Alexander and Mabel were also acutely aware of elder brother Andrew’s former interest in the occult and had met Andrew’s hard-faced god-mother on more than one occasion in years past. Mabel had always been glad she had escaped that kind of patronage.  


And it all made her doubly aware of her son’s special status and thus she had more room to embrace his choices in life. She had gained a second life at his hand and could not be jealous of his life’s loves. The only things she was worried about was the potential for prejudice and bigotry… and of course the potential that she would never see grandchildren. But maybe that was the price of the miracle that her son had delivered to her…  


So she advised caution and restraint but appealed to him to honour and return love when it was genuinely given in return. And with that she was at peace.  
…  


When Polly had heard about Robert Pearson, she had been thrilled for Digory and made sure she came down to Oxford to meet Robert. The thing about Polly was that you knew you could depend on her to keep mum about all the right things without explaining. She had brought down her friend Violet who was even more inscrutable and droll and the foursome of Digs, Robs, Moll and Vi had joined Mabel and Alexander in the most riotous fun the house had seen since Digory and Polly were twelve.  


They danced to the gramophone and sang songs around the piano and discussed the problems of the world with great passion and verve and good humour. The world was looking up and moving on from the long stultifying years of Queen Victoria and her stuffy advisors.!

The foursome were even considering a double wedding ("sometime in the future" as “an arrangement of convenience” and all living together at the house in Dorset. And perhaps a house in Oxford too with the sale of the two houses in Camden. Mabel and Alexander would have loved it. They might have even managed children. It could have worked. It should have worked.  


But then Arch-Duke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated, and the events of the Great War unfolded and all their dreams destroyed.  
Digory was sent to Egypt and then on to the Dardanelles. His battalion was obliterated and less than a tenth came back home. Digory escaped with shrapnel wounds to the calf muscle on his left leg and his chin, which was why he always grew a beard in later years.

Robert was not so lucky. Just before they were sent their separate ways, Digory had sworn to Robert that when it was all over Robert should come and live with him in Dorset and help run the estate with him; regardless of what Polly and |Violet were doing and whatever Robert’s parents thought of it all.  
But apart from a single photograph in his uniform and an early postcard, the last thing Digory heard from Robert was a postcard that waited for him back in Dorset after it was all over.  


"We have just had a brief respite from the shells and some of us came up to Antwerp for some leave. It was jolly, and we drank whisky and played piano till daybreak and slept for three days after. But it is back to the mud and the guns and the dreary trenches we go. May God save our souls and send us a quick ending to this torturous tragedy. Pray for me. Your dearest, bravely yours, ever, Robby.

That year the rains and the shells fell without mercy and trench fever caught nearly all those who were not shot down and left to twitch feebly before sinking into the cold sucking mud. 

Robby’s final fate was never made clear and maybe it didn’t matter. Digory was inconsolable even though he had thought he had accepted the near inevitability of his own or Robert's death countless times. Most of his other friends and colleagues were also gone. The halls of the university were quieter after the war and it was a more subdued youthful cohort who began eventually to drift in.

After a period of rest in Dorset, being cosseted by Mabel, he threw himself into university and found particular interest again in Plato, in the Classical stories of Greek literature and strangely, in memories of Aslan. Digory had realised of course, who Aslan was in his own world long before, so his ironic survival of the Great War led Digory to return to church more seriously. 

Whilst he found the sermons underwhelming as a rule, he found the English hymns of the people to be uplifting and deep prayer a font of great peace. They reminded him of Frank the Cabby singing hymns in the pre-dawn darkness of Narnia and this was a great solace.

…

Polly and Violet both worked in Queen Alexandra's Imperial Military Nursing Service in the same hospitals but by the end of the war Polly had had quite enough, as has been said elsewhere. But under her slightly crazed exterior, Violet was made of sterner stuff and her experience of the war only made her keener to improve how hospitals were run. She worked tirelessly on campaigns to improve the appalling conditions for nurses and patients alike in the Asylums which were full to bursting after the end of the war and later she joined the professional union of nurses. All this took its toll and whilst Violet and Polly remained friends, the demands of their careers drew them apart into different circles and they were never so close again. 

Polly settled for a smaller life but remained in close association with some of the same network of women who had supported each other through the war. Eventually, one by one, some drifted off into marriages (some quite suddenly), children and the brief renewal of the 1920s. So Polly found at the age of 33 that she was left with a mix of about ten female friends who were staunchly single and proudly independent and of relatively independent means supplemented by a little secretarial, post office or librarian work . But several were at home nursing aging widowed mothers now and some with fathers with missing limbs. 

The yellow brick row-house in Camden was still there and this time the drains really were a problem! Polly's mother also died late in the war. It was a particularly painful "women's problem", endometriosis, that without proper treatment made her mother go grey in front of her eyes. She had come home one day and found her mother dead in the lounge chair, a large mixed dosage of morphine and heroin and laudanum responsible. It was not unexpected. Polly had helped her mother go doctor shopping. Whilst banned for common trade at a pharmacist, under the "British System", these drugs were still available through doctors. 

Polly had never loved her mother in the same way Digory had loved Mabel, but her memories of the Apple of Life from Narnia had given her pause earlier on. She had gone next door and picked bucketsful in the hope that she might coax her mother into eating the lot.  
But her mother had never been partial to apples and refused all except a mouthful stewed with clove to humour her daughter. It was a lost cause anyway. The apples were extremely good for you, but they could not now bring back a mother from the threshold of death. And there was no Aslan and no desperate need beating in the heart of a young child. 

Polly had moved on from her mother and now her mother had moved on from her.

So after the sorry affairs were all over, Polly now had the house to herself. She took in female boarders, all tightly interviewed of course... and employed one of them part time to keep the basic chores of the house going; dusting, and sweeping and mopping. They all chipped in and shared the cooking and cleaning up, sharing the laundry and keeping each of their rooms sorted. It was fair and it worked. 

With Digory's and Mabel's permission, she did the same with the next door house when the tenants moved out and operated as its landlady. It enabled her to form the centre of a community of women which brought women of character from as far afield as North London and Whitehall, Norfolk and Wessex, and the Isle of Whyte. In one house or other they had many cups of tea and earnest discussions about such diverse topics as trade unions, animal rights, telecommunications, marriage laws, republicanism, and of course women's right to vote, which took until 1928 to finally come fully into law. It had been a very long haul and many women had lost their lives over the more than seventy seven year struggle. They celebrated by holding a pot luck dining table right in the middle of the street and roped it off and invited all the women in the row. This was their moment. No men allowed; they could watch if they liked. It was a huge success. 

Once or twice even representatives of the militant Women's Social and Political Union presented to gatherings at Polly's house. Working bees to create placards and pamphlets ensued, although Polly remained aloof from some their more daring “direct action” activities.

When Digory came to London, part of the rent from the old Ketterley House paid for him to stay in a comfortable gentleman's lodge. But that was rare. His home was really in Oxford and when he was not there he was either in Dorset seeing his aging parents and seeing to estate affairs, or off on the continent gathering material for his students and his own intellectual progress. 

He maintained his devotion and troth to poor dead Robby even though he knew he was not without admirers of either sex, and truth be told, of many ages. But Digory kept a respectful distance from all intimacies and directed his primary passions into his work. It made him an enigmatic figure and a trusted one. He found that students of both sexes (for there was a growing trickle of young women through the likes of Lady Margaret Hall and St Hilda's) would share some of their deepest troubles about existence with him after the war. 

And as a Professor in Ethics and Philosophy, finding (or not finding) answers to the many troubles of the world was the stuff of daily life and he helped many a student who had lost the faith in a higher power to gain wisdom through his efforts.

He had Robby’s last photograph enlarged and he kept it in a plain frame in his Oxford office and there it remained until he officially retired and returned to Dorset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently had a comment from a guest who said: Ï don't think Digory would ever be gay". But as they were a guest, it was not possible to engage in a two way conversation about this statement.
> 
> As a gay man, I sometimes find it a little stultifying to be writing about straight (assumed) characters in this corner of fanfic land. "So don't write in fanfic!" you might retort. Ahh, but as fanfiction is meant to be a vehicle for self transformation, it actually behoves one to put ones own reality into the story, not to mention picking up themes in the story that are unexplored by the original author and putting ones own spin on them. In this case, Polly and Digory lived through two world wars. They have seen it all and this included the emerging brave new world following the end of Queen Victoria and then Edward, in which the grinding search for the equality of the sexes was an ongoing concern and the slow emergence of sexual minorities from the underground was a very real thing that got repressed again by the Nazi's, the war and many on the other side of the war fence who also did not approve. It is notable that both Digory and Polly are unmarried. There is no mention of a wife for Digory and Polly is steadfastly Miss Plummer in the final novel. It is indeed very likely that they had loves and lives that were not able to be fully made public, or indeed to come to fruition. Let's pay some respect to the same-sex-attracted people and the feminists of this time, who bravely blazed trails for the future but often had to live unfulfilled lives themselves. Let's see what Narnia can do about it.


	8. The Lamp Post

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Polly and Digory pick themselves up and try to work out where to go next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting patiently those who are following this story. This chapter could keep going from here but I feel better about posting something when I have reached the turning point, rather than keep it waiting. Next chapter coming up very soon.

The Lamp Post  


…  


Digory  


Now that he’d got Polly buttoned up firmly, her thick strawberry blond hair once again tumbling about her youthful shoulders and her riding hat perched jauntily, Digory looked about them some more. His own dark brown hair was smooth with a distinct wave and there was just a hint of a beard.  


Everything was bright and wonderful. There were no true shadows as the crunchy shallow snow on the ground was in all directions and reflected the diffused light from the grey sky of high cloud. Light seemed to come from the ground as well as from above. This made it difficult to guess the location of the sun and therefore the time of day. It could have been anything from mid morning to mid afternoon.

There was no sign of the interior of the wardrobe, just an arching thicket of what looked like laburnum and hawthorn. The beech, elm and linden trees that were scattered about in all directions were bare of leaf, but shapely and beautiful, with drifts of rust coloured bracken here and there. On the heights behind them were well spaced trees that were probably larches, with an understorey of shining holly in a deep gully. 

Digory had a tear in his eye. He knew well that Aslan must have called them here for some purpose that belied the initial pleasure, but what beauty!  
They both breathed in the cold crisp air with zest. Though cold, the air was clean and enervating. There was no coal, no car exhausts, no mills, no factories pumping out industrial fumes into this landscape. 

“This feels wonderful!” he exclaimed, swinging his arms and springing about with delight. “I haven’t had this boundless energy for years. Oh, to be young again!” Digory took a short run and leaping in the air, he clicked his heels together. “Thankyou Aslan!” he called as he spun about facing Polly, his face glowing. His voice rang through the snowy wood, echoing from a tall cliff face of dark red sandstone that lay behind them.  


Ever the practical one, Polly was already gathering up the two fur coats that lay on the ground on the edge of the thicket. It was then he realised how cold it actually was.  


She handed him a coat, and he brushed off the bits of dry bracken that were clinging to it. They looked each other in the eye again. There was no hint of the psilocybin induced silliness and euphoric dark eyes. Instead their eyes had returned to a normal clear brightness; her’s a sombre grey-green and his clear hazel. Noticing this, there came a clean sense of joy, gratitude and anticipation and the rather weightier one of… well, responsibility.

Polly said, “Well, we are here for something, we might as well toddle along and find out what”.

…

They stood for a few moments, at a bit of a loss as to which direction they should walk in. The air was almost silent. There was only one bird they could hear and that was a redwing that was sending a sharp chirrup every few seconds, but it did not show itself. There was no wind.

“Polly, do you remember whether the sun was in the south or the north when we were in Narnia before? You know, when it travelled across the sky? We were only here for two days. My memory fails me. If we could just work out where the sun is and work out what time of day it is, I suspect I could get us our bearings and work out a way forward.”

“I seem to remember the sun travelling from East to West through the South,” she said, “at least it seemed to be on our right when we flew back from the waterfall and over Narnia. Those mountains we saw, was it Archenland? I’m sure the sun was pitched over them and then it set behind us. If we are in the north of the world, then those mountains would be to the south I imagine”. 

But really, Polly’s guess was as good as his, so after they had shrugged on their coats they began trudging along through the shallow snow. It was then that they each discovered inside their fur coat pocket, a roll of paper tied with a red ribbon. They recognised them. They were the scrolls that Peter had presented to them only an hour or two earlier. 

“How did they get into our pockets?” their looks seemed to say, but then they just looked at each other and shrugged knowingly. They might as well have asked “How did we get to a land through the back of a wardrobe whilst we were under the influence of Liberty Caps?”  


…  


Even though they looked about, hoping to see another small bird, perhaps a talking one, but there was no further animal life to be found. So after a few minutes of walking along, enjoying the adventure and a return to youthful vigour, and clarity of mind, Polly asked, “So where are we in Narnia, Digory? Do you have any idea where we might need to be heading if we keep walking this way?”

“Polly, I agree, but… oh, that will take a moment to work out. Now… I did get Peter to draw me a map… but the memory is a bit fuzzy. Hhhmmm. Hold on a moment.” He stopped in his tracks and looked about, trying to locate the sun and the lie of the land. 

Then he walked over to a rock, swept the snow off it, sat down and closed his eyes. After a few moments, he turned to Polly and said,  
“I think, I hope, we are in the far south west of Narnia, not very far from where we entered in the first place... if the wardrobe brought us here to the same site that it brought Lucy and then the others. As that is the best guess we’ve got, then logically we ought to be quite close to the London Lamp Post, which Lucy came across shortly after she first came here.”

“So a bit further down the valley, to the place where the Tree of Protection grows then?” added Polly hopefully.

“Alas, Polly, once grew. It’s not there now. Jadis killed it as soon as she arrived back in Narnia.” 

“Oh dear, yes of course she would have. It was going to make her life in this world such a misery wasn’t it. It’s coming back now,” said Polly, looking a little crestfallen. 

Then she gave a start and turning to Digory wide-eyed said, “And you know what? You know how time runs swifter in Narnia than on Earth… well… remember that the night your mother died, the same night the storm blew down the Narnian apple tree in London? Well… I am wondering whether that also coincided with Jadis’s conquest of Narnia and killing the Tree of Protection. It would fit wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, yes, I see what you mean,” replied Digory, looking grave.

“It wouldn’t surprise me anyway,” she went on. “And when her time ran out, it was the wardrobe made of the wood from its daughter tree which enabled the children to get here to deal with Jadis.”

“And now us,” Digory concluded. “But what is our task? I assume it has something to do with responding to the children’s concerns about what they left behind?" 

"Yes, that thought occurred to me too," concurred Polly. "Something to do with helping to re-stabilise Narnia government perhaps, if not too much time has gone by since the four left so suddenly.” 

“Oh, yes indeed. Now... what was it the Peter said in that short piece of his after Susan told her story?” asked Digory, scratching his whispy chin, looking into the trees.

They each tried to recall what they could and together they eventually strung the following piece of verse together:

But exiled here we worry so, else Peridan and Daimyo,  
Or offspring of the Galman Duke, may find occasion to rebuke,  
Each other or far worse to slaughter, the heroic Terebinthian daughter.  
But when empty seats of power sit, and none can then be found to fit,  
The roles of Diplomat or Warrior, Celebrant, Scold or Battle Doctor,  
Counsellor, Clerk or Host Engraced, we pray Aslan ‘Please act with haste’.

They paused for a moment, looked at each other and felt in their hearts that this was the problem they were being asked to solve.

Polly clapped her hands; to keep them warm as much as to punctuate the moment.“Well, it all sounds perfectly frightful," she said acerbically. "Aslan has certainly wasted no time, has he? It's less than a week at our end, since the four returned. So come on Digs, which direction do we go in then?” 

Digory said slowly, “Even if… we don’t find the Lamp Post… I think we should probably be aiming… downhill I think. If we are where I think we are, we should be able to aim downwards into the main valley of Narnia... if we can just work out the basic direction. I don't want us heading in the opposite durection, into, what was it, Telmar?" 

Digory was wracking his brains to remember the maps Peter can drawn him, but as far as he could recall, there was a range of low mountains in between Narnia and Telmar, so this had better be Narnia itself. 

He said, "And Peter and Susan and the others were not joking when they said they ruled the land from a castle by the sea. If we are going to be of any assistance, we should probably just keep following any streams until we hit the main river and then just follow it to the sea. They said to me that the castle - was it Cair Paravel? - was sitting on the northern headland overlooking the river mouth.”

“Oh, but Digory, even if we end up going in the right direction, I can’t walk all that way in riding boots! And neither can you. We may be youthful and vigorous again, but we can’t just walk there like this. It might be hundreds of miles. And days… or even weeks. And it’s freezing! I’m sure Aslan got Judith to put out this old riding habit for a reason.”

But there was nothing for it but to walk somewhere, supporting each other to prevent slipping on icy rocks. So, they silently proceeded along what seemed to be a rough bridle path, winding its way around boulders and tall trees, and for a short stretch, a definite paved pathway over a frozen brook and after another five minutes, they rounded another bank of rock.

There, ahead, they beheld a wondrous sight. It was the London Lamp Post, at last, after all these years. They had lumps in their throats as they approached, noticing how it was lichen-and-moss-encrusted; with hart’s tongue in abundance around its feet and astoundingly, a few cowslips flowering. The Lamp Post was flooding the clearing in which it stood with a cheerful golden light, only slightly dimmed by the general flood of white winter sunlight. Curiously, the trees which grew around and about, appeared to be reaching their branches towards the lamplight. They were the elegant grey shapes of rowans and the snow-festooned green of junipers and hollies. 

And it was as they stood there, once again breathing it all in and remembering things from the past so clearly, they began to speak out loud again.  


“Do you remember, Jadis broke off that lantern like a stick of barley-sugar? To think that that woman clutched onto our hands in the middle of her own palace in Charn. She was like iron. It still haunts me to this day Digs.” Polly shuddered.

“Yes, and the roar of shock that went up from the crowd! They really knew they were dealing with something out of the ordinary then. And even thought we knew what she was capable of, it was still a shock.” 

“And do you remember how she bashed the lantern down on the helmet of that poor bobby that came running?” 

“Yes, he was darn lucky to be alive after that! And later when she threw it at Aslan like a spear and hit him right between the eyes. And he just kept walking!” 

“Thank goodness he did! If he’d curled up and died, I don’t know what we’d have done.” finished Polly.

They breathed in deeply, soaking up the golden light, listening to the faint hiss of the gas flame; remembering this very Lamp Post sprouting and growing and lengthening in front of their astonished eyes. 

It was then that a silken voice spoke suddenly in their ears.

“We’ve been watching you two humans approach here for quite some time. You certainly didn’t hurry yourselves, but at least you came in the right direction.”  


They both jumped, a rather electric frisson racing through both of them. Turning about and looking around, they couldn’t see anyone at first but they eventually spied an eldritch kind of face, shaped amongst the branches, leaves and red berries of a holly, glowing in the lamp light. Then, with sudden movement, the nearer branches bent down of their own accord and springing back up, released their burden of snow in a great spray all over Polly and Digory. 

Recovering from this unexpected onslaught, they found standing on the ground, not three feet from their astonished faces, a woman, nearly seven feet tall with light greenish-grey skin, a long fall of dark hair, with a braid around her forehead, bound with holly leaves and berries. She had the most startlingly bright red eyes. She was unclothed, but when she saw them swallow nervously, trying to avert their eyes from her body, she smirked and wriggled her shoulders and her skin seemed to become clothed in an elegant robe of deepest green. 

“There,” she said, “the Kings and Queens we had until recently got used to all us dryads showing ourselves in natural bark, but I can see it doesn’t suit you... yet. Never mind, I quite like clothes anyway,” she said, swishing her gown little. “But you certainly seem to be encumbered with rather a lot!” she said, glancing derisively at Polly’s riding habit and boots, hat and fur coat. Naturally, Polly bristled at her, but the holly woman just smirked down knowingly.

“Wh… wh… who are you?” stammered Digory, who had always been a little overwhelmed by powerful female personalities.

“Well, I rather think I ought to be the one asking you two that question, don’t you think? Last night a star falls to earth. The whole forest comes alert. Something’s clearly afoot. Then this morning, a Daughter of Eve and a Son of Adam appear out of nowhere at eleven o’clock in the morning in the middle of a thicket up yonder in Upper Lantern Waste. At just the place our Kings and Queens disappeared the summer before last.” 

She laughed knowingly at their astonished glances. “Oh, Word travels fast when you’re a tree. We have our ways and means, don’t you worry. How do you think Jadis got her intelligence that Tumnus was fraternising with a human?” she asked cryptically. “It’s not only Robins and Beavers and Sly Weasels who keep a look out you know,” she added, seeming to watch their reaction to this, perhaps to play on their fears and ignorance.

Digory certainly had a creeping feeling that she was trying to scare them a little. “Jadis?” he thought anxiously. But as Polly had not heard the story and Digory had learned to be inscrutable in his career as a University Professor, the holly dryad, as this is what she was, appeared to be disappointed.

But she shrugged it off quickly enough. “No matter. If you must know, my name is Celyn. I am one of the many trees who guard this Lantern throughout the year and we have been watching closely for mysterious appearances. You two have been the most convincing so far. Oh, we have been searching long and hard, let me tell you and also keeping a strong guard on what is rumoured to be the portal to the Fair City of War Drobe in the mysterious Land of Spare-oom.” 

Again watching Polly’s slightly puzzled reaction, she said “Silly old Tumnus. He got it wrong didn’t he? I did a stint as warden of the robes at Cair Paravel, you see, so I certainly know what a wardrobe is. Tumnus wouldn’t have. Even during the long winter fauns never wore clothes. The royal children just came through a wardrobe that was in a spare room somewhere didn’t they?” 

They nodded. 

“So you do know their story then? I thought as much. The legates at Beruna will be wanting to speak to you, mark my words,” she chuckled. Then the dryad looked at them with that same slightly derisive expression, "And so I imagine you both also stepped into the very same wardrobe a short while ago and emerged here?”

They nodded again.

Then she pointed a long twiggy finger at Digory and said, “Then this young son of Adam starts talking about being young again, leaping about as if it is a spring frolic and thanking Aslan and sharing his thoughts about where you both might be. And he was right. And then to top it all off, then you both walk into the sacred circle of the Lantern and begin blurting out memories about the Lantern itself, memories which rightly belong in the Dawn of Time, unless I am vastly mistaken. So I repeat, ‘who are you?’” 

Digory glanced at Polly. Polly glanced at Digory.

They both put their hands in their pockets, feeling the scrolls that Aslan had undoubtedly remembered to send with them and Digory, gaining courage from this, intoned in his best Professorial voice.

“Polly, as now we are in Narnia we assume our Narnian titles from here-on-in. I am Lord Digory of the Apple. My companion is Lady Polly of the Rings. We have both been named as Peers of the Realm, Guardians of this Lantern and Counsellors of the Narnian Privy Chamber, by none other than High King Peter himself. We have documents to prove this. We are far far older than we may appear to you. We were indeed last in Narnia at the Dawn of Time and we require escort to the Royal Court, or what is left of it, as soon as may be. We have been sent by Aslan and High King Peter.”

The Holly Dryad stepped back a little, looking surprised and not altogether pleased, but she smiled formally, did them a low curtsey, and then called “Sisters and Brothers! You heard what the Lord Digory said. He and the Lady Polly require an escort to Beruna. Do what you can!” 

With that, the rest of the trees nearby quivered slightly and Digory could have sworn this was followed by the sound of a large flock of birds, as if they had taken flight from the glade, but none were to be seen. 

…

As they stood there looking about, Celyn said to them both. “I suspect an escort will be on its way very soon. It might even get here before the Legates at Beruna receive news.”

“Oh, I thought you said there had been Legates appointed," put in Polly, speaking at last. “May we ask who appointed them and how many there are?”

But before she could get an answer, the sound of sleigh bells approaching distracted them and they waited with bated breath until a team of reindeer swung into view.

…


	9. The Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Polly and Digory have an encounter with fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This material could easily have been part of Chapter 7 - The Lamp Post, but once something is written I am impatient to get it up for comment. Here is the rest of the chapter. I have called it Chapter 8 - The Gifts.

The Gifts  
…  
Polly

The reindeer were coming from the same direction that Polly and Digory had. With her heart in her mouth, it seemed to Polly that time had almost stopped. They seemed to glide in slow motion over the rough rocky parts with ease and they kicked up enough snow that fell so slowly that it obscured what was coming behind. As they galloped glacially into the lamplight, bells clanging hollowly, Polly took a slow step back, crashed into Digory and the Dryad. Celyn clutched them both with long twiggy fingers and more than a little prickle before time sped up again furiously. 

There was a deep “Whoa, whoa!” and the whole train came grinding to a rapid halt in a fast spray of snow, the bells now tinkling musically. Steam arose from the reindeer in the cold air and they snorted. There were ten in all. They were tall, grey and brown, with gaunt antlers. They rolled their eyes and stamped, but did not speak.

Polly and Digory tried to gather themselves to be Ladylike and Lordly, but what stepped out of the sleigh took their breath away. It was a tall, larger-than-life man with a shining face and a long bushy beard that came past his knees. He was dressed in a thick coat and trousers and boots of supple leather, stained reddish brown and a white-fur-lined hood which he tipped back as he surveyed the little party, to reveal long bushy grey hair. He was unmistakeable.

“S… S… S… Saint Nicholas?” was all Polly could manage.

“Oh ho ho ha! Yes indeed I am, Lady Polly of the Rings!” he said in a great booming voice without even raising it. 

“Or Weihnachtsmann, Santa Claus, Joulupukki, Ded Moroz, Winterfather, Grandfather Frost, Kanakaloka, Pere Noel… or Father Christmas.” He rattled off the different names with all the accented magic of the source languages. 

“Or whichever other name you prefer,” he added with a wink. “I answer to them all!”

“And I am so pleased to make your acquaintance at last. I do believe congratulations are in order for your part in reducing the potential for deadly secrets between nations so as to decrease evil and suffering. You are a woman of great courage, patience and tenacity in the face of unspeakable horrors. Both a team player and a woman with an eye for the larger pattern. Well done!” 

With that, he reached around him into his sleigh and drew out a mysterious object which he handed to her. There was a carved handle of dark wood, about eight inches long, projecting from an embroidered cover. She pulled it out to reveal an oval mirror in a gilt frame. On the back it carried a stylised relief of a lion’s head in gold on a field of coral. 

Polly took it in a trembling hand, “Thank you sir”. Being a no-nonsense, practical woman, she was wondering what she ever might do with such an object. Saint Nicholas twinkled at her puzzlement but then looked at her with a graver smile. 

“You have been brought into Narnia to achieve great things, do not doubt. This is a tool, not a toy for vanity, although you could choose to use it so. With this mirror you may see many things. The handle is made from the salvaged heartwood of the Tree of Protection and the mirror from the surface of the water that lies in the Narnian Pool in the Wood Between the Worlds. Best keep it covered until need requires it.

Feeling more than a little nervous, Polly gave a slight bob despite herself.

“And there is a second gift Lady Polly. High King Peter has named you Lady Polly of the Rings and I see you are wearing not one. Here. Remember, the same warnings apply to this gift as well. You will learn their secret.”

With that, Saint Nicholas gestured for Polly to hold out both her hands. Onto each finger as well as each thumb, he slipped a band of copper, silver or gold. They went on like oil and sat comfortably, hardly noticeable to the touch. But they each bore a stone of a different colour, which winked and glittered in the lamplight. Polly felt distinctly overdressed. 

…  


Digory  


He then turned to Digory. “And I must thank you, Master Kirke, or should I say Lord Digory of the Apple? Your forbearance at the garden of life in the Dawn of Time and at your mother’s bedside so long ago, has borne its fruit well. Your tears have healed many. By refusing to succumb again to your own selfish urges, not only did you buy Narnia a long start in its early years free from dominion, and your mother a long life of health and happiness, you also had the foresight to conserve the past and to create a work of craft in honour of the mother you loved once her time was over. With your continued generosity of spirit in harbouring those children from harm, your wardrobe was able to bring the four sovereigns into this world seventeen years ago and it was they, who with Aslan’s great sacrifice, and their clear hearts, freed Narnia and the spirit of generosity that was always meant to fall like the rain and flow like the rivers in this beautiful world. Thus was I also able to return.” 

He looked down at Digory with compassion, whose eyes watered and lips trembled. He said, “Never think that your work with Narnia was misunderstood Lord Digory or gone unthanked. You have been doing the work all your life and we appreciate it. But never think that your work for Narnia was done. Here you are again, to perform another task with your erstwhile companion that may be long remembered. No doubt all will become clear to you both in time.”

Seemingly from nowhere, he handed Digory a small globular casket, carved intricately from the same wood as the handle of Polly’s mirror. It had a gilt hinge and catch and like Polly’s mirror, the lid was adorned with a field of coral surmounted by a gold lion’s head.

Digory’s hand moved to open the catch, but Saint Nicholas held up his hand in warning. 

“Ah-ah-ah. I would suggest opening this casket only when you have a moment of great privacy Lord Digory,” remarked Saint Nicholas gravely. “You may find its contents draw the attention of many, before you are ready for them.”

Digory hastily tried to cram it into a pocket out of sight and found to his surprise that it seemed to shrink in his grasp and fit quite comfortably. He could see out the corner of his eye, Polly making the same discovery with her mirror.

“You also have a second gift. It is a bottle filled with the ink from the Kraken of the deep southern seas. When this ink is used, the written words when spoken will be binding; not only upon those to whom it is directed, but also to the one who speaks them. It will remain full until it is no longer needed, but use it sparingly. Make sure you take care with your words. It comes with a quill from one of the Firebirds of the Sun. This quill will remain sharp until it is no longer needed.”  


Digory slipped the crystal ink bottle with its amethyst stopper into his other pocket and carefully slid the quill inside his shirt where it could stay safe.  
“And all good things come in threes. You both might need these as well”. 

Saint Nicholas handed both Polly and Digory long dark wooden objects about eighteen inches long, which proved to be daggers in sheaths. Again there was some coral inlay with gold banding. 

“Oh dear,” said Digory, glancing at Polly with concern. She pulled her dagger partly out of its sheath, took a sharp indrawn breath and shoved it back in quickly after seeing the sharp blade. It also disappeared into her pocket.

“These blades are made with peace in mind, not war, Lord Digory and Lady Polly. They are made from the ploughshares forged by King Frank himself which were used to till the first soil of Narnia in order that his family and people could eat. They may have many purposes.”

…

Now he turned to Celyn, smiling. The Holly Dryad was looking at Saint Nicholas with a jaundiced eye, her hands on her hips, holly leaves about her shoulders bristling.

“Ah! It was your star that fell to ground last night was it not!” she declared accusingly. “You have come early…” 

“Indeed I have,” he confirmed. “The tides of fate demanded it and Aslan is not a tame lion…”

“So is the day of the Winterfather early this year – this day? Or do you return in a month to apportion your largesse to everyone?” 

“Never to everyone, only those in most need,” was his somewhat terse reply, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth.

“My question you have answered not!” she retorted. “Are you coming back? And you were extremely generous to the Daughter of Eve and Son of Adam just now. What about I? What about my sisters and brothers? Have we not toiled? Standing guard, searching for the lost sovereigns, watching for ne’er-do-wells, fortune seekers and trespassers? Have I not acted as emissary between the Spare Oom thicket, Beaversdam and Beruna? Do I get a gift now or next month?” 

“Yes, yes and yes!” Saint Nicholas bellowed. “But no, you might get none at all, if you carry on like that!” Saint Nicholas replied, his immense laughter preparing to burst out.

But Celyn was having none of it. “Your gifts I need not!” she snorted. She turned her back and prepared to merge into her tree. 

But she stopped thunderstruck. Her tree was now taller than it had ever been. Each of its leaves now bore a distinct edge of creamy white. Its berries were larger and fuller and redder than ever before. From out of its branches scampered red squirrels, who, braving the prickly leaves, began to dexterously affix crystals and silver ornaments to its outermost twigs. In a twinkling the tree was alive with movement and colour and the reflected light of the London Lamp Post. 

Celyn stood trembling, seeing her home and her being transformed into a thing of rapturous beauty in front of her eyes. She turned around and saw that all the other trees in the inner circle had also been changed. They were larger, richer looking, even the bare rowans, looked braver and stronger. Light was being reflected back from a thousand prisms.

With a laugh and a wave, Saint Nicholas sat back in his sleigh, called to his reindeer and they sped off in a cloud of spray, his laughter echoing through the woodlands. Watching him disappear down the rough snowy path, Digory felt his senses uplifted again and he turned to Polly and said in an undertone,  
“Well, I suppose we had better ask Celyn how long she thinks we might have to wait until our escort arrives.”

…

It was then that Polly and Digory noticed that Celyn was gone and that two of the largest reindeer were standing patiently looking at them, saddled and bridled for riding.

“I believe we might be that escort” one of them said drily.


	10. The Cross Country Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Polly and Digory begin their adventure and meet some old friends of Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy.

The Cross Country Ride

Digory  


It had been many years since Digory had last ridden. 

When he had been about forty-two, a few years after the Great War, he had come down to Dorset from Oxford University because his father was gravely ill. But after spending time at Alexander’s bedside, sitting in vigil with his mother, he had needed to get out for a while. So he had taken one of the horses out for a run. But the horse had shied when a large dog had come bounding out of nowhere barking like mad. The horse had then taken off along the river flats in a mad gallop. Digory had been thrown and dragged. He had torn ligaments in his shoulder, cracked a few ribs, dislocated his knee and bruised his coccyx badly, and never ridden again. 

So when Polly had madly suggested a few hours before that they put on their riding gear because they were going riding anyway, the psilocybin-induced derring-do that had been awash in them both had pushed aside any resistance. 

But with a clear head, the prospect of actually riding reindeer here and now, brought him up a bit, more out of habit than anything. However, when he thought more about it, he found that the bodily memory of his hurt and pain and fear was no longer with him. It seemed to be rather dim and in a faraway past - or future – that no longer made him wince in remembered pain and anxiety.

So he rather cheerfully looked at the two reindeer hoping for a new and wonderful experience. And after all, this was Narnia. 

The deer introduced themselves as Soffá and Miljá. Soffá, whose name meant Wisdom, and who had the larger and more complicated antlers, was the elder. She claimed that whilst they rather enjoyed running around in a team pulling The Winterfather about in his sleigh every year, she admitted they were looking forward to something a little different. In listening to her, Polly felt that she sounded rather like herself when she had been about thirty-five but with a gruffy lilt that reminded her of some Finnish refugees she had interviewed only the year before. 

And Miljá, whose name meant Freedom, and whose smaller antlers only amounted to about six seasons, in a voice that was almost a dead-ringer for Ingrid Bergman, said: 

“Well, we did hear your story just now, here in the Glade of the Lantern. So when the Winterfather chose us to be your companions for a while, we felt very honoured. Imagine! Taking two of the first ever humans who were in this world on a ride across Narnia!” 

“Oh, Miljá, you have stars in your eyes my dear,” replied Soffá, blowing warm steam, but she still had a very pleased look about her.

“What do you know?” retorted Miljá out the corner of her mouth, bucking her hips about, eyes rolling. “Personally I think we might just make it into the songs and tales now. Just think, ‘Soffá and Miljá, noble caribou of northern tundra clime, the chosen steeds for those returned from the Dawn of Time,’”she chortled with glee.

“I told you, stars in your eyes! ‘The chosen of the Winterfather worked herself into a lather!’ you mean. But you’re right. They will be popular and some of the glory might just rub off on us. Come on… we haven’t got all day.”

…

So it was that Digory found himself and Polly sitting astride, trying hard to muffle their noses in their fur coats and doing their best to avoid the tossing antlers of their steeds as they raced through great tracts of cold snowy forest, planting their springy wide toed feet carefully in the snow as they went. It was marvellous. The wind whistled past their chilly ears, their hearts raced and they clutched the pommels and hung onto the reins more for stability than for steering. Digory could see Polly frantically tying the ribbon of her hat under her chin with one hand, her titian blond hair whipping about in the icy wind. And he was glad they had the stirrups because some of the country was rough and some turns of direction had to be navigated. 

But the deer were excellent at finding the smoothest ground and nobody lost their seat. To tell the truth, their gait reminded Digory slightly of some Lipizzaner horses he had seen in Vienna some years before but naturally had never ridden. There was thus none of the bone shaking motion of the trot and none of the thunderous rise and fall of the gallop. This was something else entirely.

And in the mid-afternoon, they came down from Upper Lantern Waste, just as when the world was new. They saw the upper vale of Narnia spreading out below them, with the main river in the distance, but this time disappearing and reappearing in loops from behind snowy white hills dotted with trees. The tors and steep gullies, thicker forest and glades were behind them. Here the country was opening out and after only a very few miles, they came down a winding path into a gentle vale in which the semi-frozen flatness of water meadows and spreading pools could be clearly seen.

…

As they came into the vicinity, Soffá said quietly but firmly, “Best we tread extra quietly here Miljá, and best keep your voices down Lord Digory and Lady Polly. These parts are inhabited and we don’t want to crash into the residents’ backyards so to speak and wake them up if they are trying to sleep. They mainly get up at night you know.”

For quite some time, they trod along carefully, with Polly and Digory looking about eagerly to see any sign of habitation. But Digory, who could not see a house anywhere said, “But where are people living around here? It just looks like a lot of bushy trees and mud banks with tussocks and pools everywhere. I don’t think any man or woman we know would want to try and navigate around here at night.”

“Oh! So you don’t recognise beaver country then?” asked Miljá. 

Poor Digory went a little pink again and realised his ignorance was showing. Polly glanced over at him and winked reassuringly. 

He said, “Well... er… I must s-s-say, I believe I do not. Y-y-you see, in our country I, I think beavers have not been seen for at least th-th-three hundred years.  
“Oh my goodness, it sounds worse than the White Witch!” replied Miljá, who had been born well after her reign had ended and thus had no comparison.  
But Polly answered smoothly, “Indeed Miljá, there are many things wrong in the world from which we come and the continued absence of Beavers from our particular country is one of the saddest. If Beavers are indeed here, it would be a sad loss to pass through and not meet any. I assume you mean Talking Beavers?”  
“Of course” said Miljá.

“Yes, of course! She does mean talking Beavers Polly,” put in Digory. “It’s coming back now. Lucy… Queen Lucy, was telling me that when they all first entered Narnia together, they were befriended by a pair of Beavers. I believe they were simply called Mr and Mrs Beaver. This wouldn’t be near their home by any chance?” he asked.

“Oh indeed it is,” offered Soffá. “I have been here several times with the Winterfather. I was just a young thing; my first time drawing the sleigh and it was the beginning of the great thaw, the end of the White Witch’s reign! We had to deliver a new treadle sewing machine of all things! And it was such a weight! What does a beaver need with a sewing machine I wanted to ask. It is still beyond my comprehension!” she said. “But Aslan works in mysterious ways and the Winterfather only provides what is most needed and no more, so she must have needed it for something.”

“You know, I admit I thought exactly the same thing when I heard it from Lucy,” said Digory. “But I believe she said that before they were all crowned, and often afterwards, Mrs Beaver used it to run up clothing for the new Kings and Queens of Narnia. Lucy told me that the story went that Mrs Beaver’s great grandparents had rescued the original one from the depredations of Jadis and with the help of the centaurs had brought it up here in secret from, where was it, Beruna?” 

“Probably Beruna,” replied Soffá. “It was and still is the market town and those Narnians who need clothes usually go there to find them.”

Digory nodded. “And really, I mean, a Beaver’s Lodge would be the last place the Witch – or anyone else for that matter - would have ever thought of looking for a sewing machine. It would get so damp and rusty! Lucy told me that there had only been one in Narnia ever, and that the origins seem to be lost in the mists of time, but she said that her research into the matter at Cair Paravel suggested that it may have originally been a gift from Father Christmas to Queen Helen the first Christmas they had here. We suspect that Mrs Beaver must have been preparing for the prophecy to be fulfilled and planning to become the new sovereigns’ seamstress. I understand she was most concerned about Jadis getting her hands on it and fiddling with it; losing the bobbins and misthreading to turn it into an instrument of mischief perhaps?” 

The image in Digory’s mind was comical in the extreme and he almost giggled, but the memory of Jadis wrenching an iron bar and later throwing it with dead accuracy at the singing Lion in the very act of Creation gave him pause. 

“Are they still alive though?” was Polly’s question. “I don’t want to ask for Mr and Mrs Beaver and then find they aren’t here anymore. I mean it has been seventeen years since Lucy and the others arrived. Do Beavers even live that long?”

“Well, as to that, most Talking Beasts in Narnia and nearby countries do tend to live much longer than our dumb cousins you know,” said Soffá, “but I couldn’t say in this instance. Certainly I think you’ll find that their many descendants also live hereabouts too. Quite a colony.”

“Are we still alive?!” came a deep and gruff, slightly cross voice. “Of course we are still alive! Who wants to know?”

The two reindeer and Polly and Digory looked about trying to locate the voice. It was only then that Digory finally spied a crooked little chimney rising up from the snow about 100 feet away, half hidden behind some willow and aspen branches. But a sudden explosion of snow from what looked like a drift only a few yards away, revealed the head and shoulders of the most enormous rodent that Digory had ever seen, poking out from a tunnel that came out halfway through a mass of branches, mud and twigs covered in snow. The muzzle and forehead were rather grizzled, and as the whole creature emerged, they could see the powerful dark brown body flecked with more than a little white and then the flattened tail. 

“And who might you be, shouting down our front door, talking about me and the Mrs being dead? We was asleep, not dead! We should be both alive and asleep if we weren’t being woken up every five minutes by troublesome visitors.” He sounded most put out.

The beaver peered up at them with bleary and slightly rheumy eyes and then he wiped a bit of sleep away with the back of a paw. His expression changed when he finally saw his visitors. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped slackly revealing rather worn yellow teeth. 

“Oooh!” Then he turned quickly and cupping his paws around his muzzle he bellowed down the tunnel, “Missus! You better get here double quick! There’s young humans here in long fur coats again and this time they’re on Christmas reindeer!”

There was a slightly querulous voice that echoed up the tunnel, “What’s that you say Mr Beaver? I didn’t hear all that! More stoats and Christmas cheer? Talk sense dear. The stoat family aren’t welcome here, even in mid-winter. And it isn’t time for a visit from the Winterfather for another few weeks!”

“Just come out Missus. You’ll see for yourself!”

“Who are ya?” he quizzed them more quietly in an aside. “Her bladder’s not the best and I don’t want her havin’ too much of a shock.”

Polly and Digory hastily dismounted. 

Digory quickly got down on bended knee and looking Mr Beaver in the eye, said carefully, “My name is Digory and my companion’s name is Polly. We have come to bring you all news of Queen Lucy and the rest. We are …er… close friends of theirs from… the other side of the wardrobe.” 

“Oooh hoooh! I knew it. It was the fur coats that gave it away. And you talk almost the same too.” If Mr Beaver had been younger and fitter he would have been hopping from one foot to the other. As it was he just jiggled from side to side a little, looking excited, suppressing his glee.

They all waited.

Mrs Beaver finally emerged, a little gingham apron tied around her middle. She squinted up at them, her face almost white, but she could see very little. “Just a moment Mr Beaver, I’ve got to polish me specs; they’ve got a bit gummed up. The chars we were given by that Wiggle who was passing through were that slimy!”  
She rubbed her paws on her apron. “Now what was that you were trying to tell me about? Stoats and Christmas cheer? Or was it Boats and Christmas Beer” she said with a bit of a scoff in her voice.

She then carefully took off her spectacles, reached down, grabbed a pawful of snow and with great dexterity began to use the snow and a cleanish corner of her apron to rub her spectacles clean. 

The cold snow didn’t look like it would shift much, but it must have done something, because she had a quick shrewd look through them at arm’s length, gave a satisfied nod and then popped them back over her ears and finally looked up.

By this time, Mr Beaver had waddled over to Mrs Beaver and stood next to her. “I said, ‘There’s young humans here in long fur coats again and this time they’re on Christmas reindeer.’ See for yourself.” 

Mrs Beaver saw the fur coats with Digory and Polly’s faces looking out of them and the two deer looming behind.

“Oh…! Oh…! Oh…!” She gave a little whimper, sat down and took a deep breath.

Then she said in a low tone, “Aslan’s mane. Well… they sure looks like something we’ve seen before, but there’s only two of ‘em and there’s no prophecy to go on this time Mr Beaver. At least they look a little older than the last ones did when they arrived.” 

She planted her paws on her apron trembling and with her spectacles glinting, fixed them with her eye and said in a shaky voice, “Am I right in thinking you come from the place where long fur coats come from then?”

“Mrs Beaver!” 

“Oh dear, well… really I meant to ask, are, are, are you from the same place that Lucy and her family came from? Did you come through the wardrobe?” She had tears in her beaver eyes, “A..a..and do you know aught of what became of them?” 

She looked up imploringly, her paws now up near her mouth, wide eyed with distress and hope. A few tears ran down her cheeks and off her snout where they turned into icicles.

Polly spoke this time. “Oh yes, we do indeed Mrs Beaver. My name is Polly. This is Digory. We are all staying together in the same house back in our world. They are all safe and sound. And whilst they are finding it difficult to not be in Narnia anymore, they seem to be adjusting rather well with a little help from Aslan. It had been less than a week in our time you see.”

“Oh, well I never, that is such a relief to me. She sniffled. Oh, I am leaking at both ends again,” she said. “Just a moment if you please.” 

She waddled off behind a mound of snow for a few seconds, heaved an audible sigh of relief and then came waddling back. 

“That’s better, now… so has Aslan sent you two here to be our King and Queen instead then?”

Polly and Digory looked at each other horrified. Neither of them had thought of that.

Seeing their faces, Mr Beaver asked, “So he hasn’t even asked you then? Oh, he’s not a tame lion, not Aslan,” waving paw at them. 

“No he’s not a tame lion, not Aslan,” Mrs Beaver repeated in a sing-song kind of voice. 

“Not to worry! You should have seen the look on the faces of Peter and Susan and Lucy when we told them about the prophecy and about him being a lion! They went grey as herons. Sovereigns of Narnia was the last thing they wanted to be. They just wanted to go home with their brother… ” he paused, considering his next words.

“Yes, with their brother… But with Aslan’s help and later with Edmund’s they did it, and a fine job they did too. They became the pride of Narnia and the envy of all its neighbours,” put in Mrs Beaver.

“For nigh on sixteen years it was. It was a Golden Age!” finished Mr Beaver.

“A Golden Age!” echoed Mrs Beaver dreamily. “But we’ll never see the like of it again,” she whimpered bleakly. 

But taking courage from another look at Polly and Digory once again, she said reassuringly with a firm nod, “But I’m sure you’ll do almost as good a job.”

…

Polly

“Oh what a predicament!” Polly thought to herself. “We’ve got to nip this in the bud at once!”

She coughed and said, “Mr and Mrs Beaver, we are delighted to meet you. I trust we can share a little confidential information with you? Soffá and Miljá here have already heard most of it and know to be careful.”

They both nodded, all eyes and bristling whiskers.

“Well… we need to let you know several things. Peter and Susan, and Edmund and Lucy have all been talking to Digory here since they all left Narnia. I have only met them myself two days before arriving here, so there are many things that I know little about. We want you two especially, as you were among their first friends here, to understand that they were led astray by the White Stag and found themselves back in our own world, almost as if no time had passed at all. They are children again you see.”

I am not sure if you have ever seen a Beaver wince, but Mr Beaver managed it. 

“We think it means they have been given a chance at a new life back at where they started, but with the wisdom and knowledge that they gained from Narnia, and yourselves of course... and knowing Aslan.”

“So whilst it has been a terrible loss to you all in Narnia for the last eighteen months… is that right?” she asked, to which they nodded again, “you can be hopeful for them and grateful that you knew them for so long. For myself in two short days and nights I must say that I have been most impressed and gratified that I have come to know them. Be assured that they have taken the best of Narnia with them in their hearts.”

Mrs Beaver pulled a handkerchief out of her apron pocket and blew her nose. Mr Beaver patted her on the back gently. He put a paw up to his own face.

Digory stepped in to support Polly with the task. 

“For ourselves, we must be honest. We are not quite sure why we are here, so we wish for no false rumours of our task or intentions to be spread about, if we can help it. As we have found ourselves here and returned to what we think is the age of about seventeen years old, we must believe that Aslan has sent us here with some purpose. We are both certainly far more youthful than when we entered the wardrobe. We both have long lives of experience in many things. It may be that we have been brought by Aslan to help Narnia restore its royal rule above and beyond the new Legates at Beruna, but we do not think it will be our rule to command. Before we left, Peter did leave us a riddle which we think signifies our task in this direction. But as neither of us has yet spoken with Aslan directly, or met the people named in the riddle, we cannot confirm our suspicions and do not wish to speak it just yet.” 

Digory paused and coughed a little in the cold air, pulling his coat about him some more. He continued.  
“You are quite correct though. Aslan is not a tame lion. You should know that Polly and I have been to Narnia before and we do know Aslan. We were lucky enough to be drawn into Narnia on the very moment of its creation by his high self, but we stayed less than two days. In our own world we are about sixty years old.”  
Mr Beaver even managed a bow at that and an awed whisper, “So that’s who you are! I thought I remembered those names.”

“So less than six hours ago, we were in the company of High King Peter and the rest,” commented Polly.

Mrs Beaver hugged Mr Beaver in her delight as Digory continued.

“Just before we left, he presented us with scrolls which give our titles and broad functions and declare our status as Narnians and give recognition for some past tasks to Narnia’s benefit. None of us knew we were coming. But someone mysterious slipped these scrolls into the pockets of the long fur coats we now wear and we must assume it was Aslan himself.” 

"We have been given gifts form the Winterfather earlier today which we must assume are to help us in our tasks. Yes he did come early this year I believe. That is really about all we can tell you,” he finished, looking at the two beavers concernedly and then glancing back up at Soffá and Miljá who had been patiently listening to this exchange.

Mr Beaver smiled toothily and put his paw to his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. There was nothing, but then after a few moments and over the next few minutes, Talking Beavers began to appear from all directions. There were also a few Otters and Water Rats in the mix, but far larger than we would ever see in our world. 

“Allow us to introduce our children and grandchildren,” he said.

When they were all gathered together standing or squatting or crouching in a semi-circle expectantly, watching for their patriarch’s word, he said,  


“Friends, children, grandchildren… and relatives and to the tenth degree. May I have the pleasure of giving you great news! This Daughter of Eve and this Son of Adam have been sent by Aslan and the High King Peter from across the worlds to restore the rule of Narnia!”

There was much cheering and slapping of tails on the snow.

“As you know, their task will not be easy! If rumour is true, there is strife amongst the royals of neighbouring lands. This strife which has now come upon Narnia. The whole neighbourhood wants a piece, but these two are going to fix it. They will restore the Golden Age!”

Polly and Digory looked at each other alarmed. This was not quite what they had been hoping for from a confidential discussion. They grasped hands in trepidation and realised they felt very cold, despite the fur coats.

It was then, that several things all began to happen almost at once.

First, the entire clan and their friends began capering drolly about in the snow with clumsy steps. The otters were slithering around on themselves and each other with delight. Mr and Mrs Beaver were hugging their legs in glee and relief. 

Next, a thunderous tremor could be heard through the earth and several enormous bay and black centaurs galloped up the side of the vale, above the water line, puffing mightily, but smiling with bright eyes under black brows at the scene before them, flexing their chests and looking grand. 

Then the Winterfather’s train and sleigh scudded across one of the most frozen ponds and dams and came to a halt not far away, reindeer blowing, his laughter echoing across the ice.

And last of all, one of Polly’s rings began to pulse with warmth. The heat spread from her hand and into Digory’s and tingled throughout their bodies, banishing the winter cold. It also gave them the feeling that maybe they need not feel so nervous after all. The simple joy and love and the passion of the Narnian inhabitants was what it was all about after all.

There was nothing to fear. They had a combined lifetime experience of one hundred and twenty years. They had both been to Narnia before and Aslan had sent them to do good deeds.

Saint Nicholas, the Winterfather picked up a handful of snow and threw it glittering into the air. Before you could say "Jack Robinson", the entire cavorting crowd of creatures found themselves tussling with flopping fish, and a few had eels which slipped and slithered about; others had the sweetest of sappy branches, others with dried berries according, to their kind. 

With a final wave, his train swooped away up the vale again and disappeared into the trees midst the echoing joyous laughter of his boundless love and generosity.  


It was then that Polly noticed with gladness that Soffá and Miljá were still with them when they saw them grazing on a great pile of tundra moss and realised that they had become friends. 

Then both she and Digory turned towards the centaurs who trotted to a halt not far away gazing at them intently. 

One of the centaurs who spoke first. “Well met! My name is Knitbone and I am one of the Legates of Beruna. We have come with all haste. The trees of Lantern Waste have spoken. Two visitors from the Dawn of Time have come to Narnia as now we see with our own eyes. The star of the Winterfather has fallen early and here are his gifts of sustenance. Let us break bread together! Let it be a symbol of the times to come! All praise to Aslan!” he said in ringing tones. 

There was not one creature that did not echo his last words.

For nearby had appeared a large cauldron of hot fish chowder over a merry fire. There were several enormous birch bark mugs for the Centaurs and two smaller ones for Polly and Digory. 

So as they introduced themselves to these slightly alarming but noble beings, Polly and Digory found themselves ladling soup into the mugs and handing them out, along with torn off hunks from a loaf of delicious crusty dark rye bread. There was enough to go round for Mr and Mrs Beaver and second and third helpings to any who wanted.

It was as they studied each other shyly over their mugs of soup that Digory asked, “And for what do we have the pleasure of your visit today Master Knitbone?

“We are your escort to Beruna.”  
…


	11. The Market Town - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Polly and Digory bid farewell to the all at Beaversdam, takinga gift form Mrs Beaver to Tumnus and are transported to Beruna by Knitbone and his family. Soffá ad Miljá are still in their company. They welcomed in the cold of the late evening by The Legates of Narnia.

The Market Town - Part 1  


…  


Digory  


“You are the RELIEF escort you mean,” said Soffá tartly out the side of her mouth, staring up at the four centaurs with a jaundiced eye, still chewing moss in figures of eight. “We could certainly do with some respite, to be sure, for we have been going for several hours already, but we were doing very well thank you very much.” She bent down and took another mouthful and did not look at the centaurs again for a while.  


Digory coughed, feeling embarrassed. He looked the centaurs up and down. For these startling and stunningly virile specimens to come galloping up to take them on the next stage was all very flattering, but he couldn’t help agreeing with Soffá. It was all rather sudden and unexpected.  


The centaur’s horse parts appeared to be enormous Shire Horses, the largest either Digory had ever seen, at least twenty hands at the horse shoulder. However, from these shoulders or hips, depending on how you looked at them, extended even higher the masculine torsos, chests, necks and arms of enormous men. All four had long dark wispy wavy beards which grew from their chins and necks and even from their chests. All had smiling faces with mouths full of strong rather horsey teeth in full jaws with large sensuous lips, above which were wise, dark kindly eyes set under deep brows. They reminded Digory strongly of paintings of cave men from La Chapelle aux Saints that he’d seen in Paris when he had gone to view an ancient skeleton there as a young man. But these centaurs appeared much friendlier. 

In an attempt to match their powerful presence, Digory put on his best deep-voiced professorial voice. “Ahem, … we do not wish to cause offence Master Knitbone,” he said, “but Mistress Soffá speaks truly. The Winterfather himself appointed Soffá and Miljá here to be our escorts. Perhaps once we have completed our refreshments here, we may discuss the time and manner of leaving here and the route we should take?” 

Knitbone and his followers did not seem to have taken any offence but just smiled broadly and dipped their heads. As they came closer, to take their mugs of soup, the combined musk of horse and healthy rainwashed man that rushed over Digory nearly made him waver. He could see Polly having a similar experience, her nostrils flaring as they witnessed the centaurs giving horse-sized sighs of satisfaction.  


…  


Three large wolf-hounds of the non-talking kind were also with them and one of the centaurs called them to heel as they came into view of the various Talking Beasts eating their favourite food. But even they were not forgotten, for when Digory next turned to ladle soup he spied a pile of meaty bones near the cauldron and he was able to toss one to each hound. They were very well trained, as they only flung themselves down to chew a bone each once their master gave them leave. Everyone continued to eat and drink until they were quite full and the cauldron quite empty and dusk was coming on. As all know, the sun sets very early in winter and so it was sunset by the time the escort party was finally ready to set forth from Beaversdam. 

After some discussion with Knitbone, it seemed they were in for a four-hour journey into the darkness. It was getting very cold but the soup in their stomachs seemed to give them further courage and the thought of several hours ride was no longer bothering Digory. He saw that Polly also seemed to be looking quite ready for whatever came next.

Before they left, Mrs Beaver gave a squeak and scuttled heavily down into the Lodge she shared with Mr Beaver and a short moment later, came back with a bundle wrapped in brown paper and red bark string. She said panting slightly:  
“I nearly forgot! I’ve been keeping this for Tumnus ever since the Kings and Queens disappeared. He passed by so excitedly after he had heard that the White Stag was in the area, that he clean left it behind. It was high summer at the time so he didn’t need it then and I thought he’d be back. But he’s one of the Legates at Beruna now, a person of great importance. With one thing and another, I haven’t remembered to send it back to him and he’s been so busy he hasn’t had a chance to come back to his old haunts. Can you please take it with you? I’m sure it will give him some heart. He was wearing it the time he first met Queen Lucy you know.”

Digory got down on bended knee once again and took the mysterious bundle from Mrs Beaver. He remembered to hold her paws and kiss her on the forehead and on her snuffly snout once each side, as Peter had described to him. She looked up at him gratefully and said, “Oh, you have a good heart you do, Lord Digory. You will do well, I am sure.” 

Digory used this moment to quietly ask a question which had been sorely bothering him since they had arrived. “Mr and Mrs Beaver, I do not wish to put you too much on the spot, but I wonder if you could help us understand something. Why is it, that the Legates are based in Beruna? I believe Beruna is in Central Narnia. What has become of the castle by the sea?”

Mr Beaver looked sidewise at the centaurs, and said out the corner of his mouth in the way that only Beavers can, “I think it is because once the Kings and Queens were gone, nobody wanted to be there anymore. It was too sad you see.”  
“Oh Mr Beaver, that it was!” exclaimed Mrs Beaver. “But more to the point, worrisome. We were all of us worried sick that some human from Galma or Calormen or Telmar would just come along and sit on one or more of the thrones and claim the rule of Narnia. The centaurs and the Narnian giants and the royal gryphons weren’t having that! Imagine the uproar! The few humans around at court knew better than to assume Regency.” 

“No, nobody wanted that, no matter if they were a son of Adam or a daughter of Eve. The memory of Jadis is all too fresh in all our minds see. Her ‘house’ as she used to call it, up between them hills there mark you, horrible place,” Mr Beaver was tilting his head at the low range of hills just to the north over the Great River, “was wisely knocked down for building rubble by the Giants of Narnia for everyone else’s use within weeks of her demise. Otherwise we’d now have had two not-so-empty castles lookin’ at each other across the land. And no end of trouble.” 

“No end of trouble,” added Mrs Beaver. “So Cair Paravel has been locked up and kept under guard. Placed on mothballs you might say. It was the Council of Narnia that did that. The Council that then become the Conclave of Legates. They decided that Beruna would be the best place to do their job. More in the centre of Narnia as you say. Until the succession can be worked out… with Aslan’s blessing of course. Though he hasn’t been seen in these parts for more than three years...” she added fatalistically, her voice trailing off. 

Mr Beaver coughed. “Ahem! He’s not a tame lion you know.”

“No not a tame lion,” echoed Mrs Beaver again. “But come on then Mr Beaver, don’t worry too much, these two will sort it all out, don’t you worry.” She patted him on the shoulder and looked at him slightly worriedly herself.

Then Mr and Mrs Beaver and all the clan and neighbours gathered around and said goodbye with gruffly or squeaking voices as the other two centaurs who introduced themselves as Knitbone’s sons helped heave Digory and Polly onto Stargazer and Knitbone’s back. They were rather glad of this kindness, as without stirrups and saddle it was impossible to scale their height without appearing fools. 

Nevertheless it was going to be a bareback affair and for Digory and Polly’s stability, Stargazer and Knitbone had each tied a broad belt around their human middles which had handles on the back which could be gripped. Polly and Digory each buttoned up their coats as high as they could and Polly fastened her hat on firmly again, this time with two hands. 

Soffá and Miljá had kept on their tack which was far too small for the centaurs but they said were looking forward to a good run without riders. 

“We think you might me needing us before long,” said Soffá. “These centaurs will have the speed and stamina for the journey ahead, not to mentioned getting you across the fords, but we’re sure you’ll be wanting a chance to get away from things fairly soon, so we’ll be just standing by. Besides, the Winterfather didn’t summon us back, so we’re sticking with you.”

Each centaur held a lantern in his hand to guide their steps. And so it was with a last “Goodbye” and “Good Luck!” from the Beavers, that the party headed off in single file for the long gallop to Beruna, lanterns bobbing into the gathering darkness. First there was one of Knitbone’s sons accompanied by the two of the wolfhounds, then Knitbone himself bearing Digory followed by Soffá and Millja, with Stargazer bearing Polly and last of all, the other son with the last wolfhound.

It was a long haul. Digory was grateful to Aslan for their returned youth and stamina, else they would never have made it. They had to grip with their strong young legs and just enter into the rhythm. Like the reindeer, these centaurs knew how to give a smooth ride so if it had not been for the bareback riding, they would have felt like riding on air. In the clean cold air, the musky waft from the armpits was still noticeable, so he really did wonder what it must be like in high summer! 

Some of the clouds had parted and as they continued down the valley, they could see the silvery half-moon was already high and a few of the large stars of Narnia began to appear in the inky blackness of the southern half of the sky. The moonlight lit up huge snow clouds that were mounting far away in the north. The chill of the air made the stars twinkle in all the colours of the rainbow. It was thrilling if very cold. They raced down the winding pathways on the south side of the river, paced along rough tracks, forded half frozen tributary streams, climbed up forested banks and galloped across hog back hills covered in heathland.

And so, it was by quite late in the evening, the party stepped smartly along the wide path on the top of the south bank in the broad river valley in which sat Beruna below thickly wooded hills, the moon now just peeking over the south-western mountains behind on their right with high clouds scudding. Finally they finally slowed their pace and came down the final slope right to the edge of the lapping water. 

Many tales have told of old Beruna, with the merry markets, the bells a’ringing, the rippling ford and the Rivergod and his Naiad daughters guarding the ways and keeping ordinary folk from mishaps. But Polly and Digory knew none of these tales though no doubt they would come to hear some of them in time. 

At this pitch of winter and late at night, all that could be seen were a few twinkling lights on the far side and the ford spreading out below them in the moon and starlight. They could now clearly hear the chill waters rippling and rattling and chattering through the stones and shoals which must have been at least half a mile across. At this range, Polly and Digory could see dark, bare winter trees lining the banks. It was clear that in the Spring and Summer, this would be a most beautiful place. It still was. But in the moonlight, it seemed stark and rather sorrowful.

At the lapping water’s edge they gathered, ready to cross the ford.

Knitbone gave a horsey rumble and said “Worry not, the water is not deep. But it is cold and swift. We will bear you across safely. Keep your feet up high if you can! After we gain the far side we shall all get a rubdown and for you Mistress Soffá and Mistress Miljá, they say that the Legate Tumnus is arranging a warm barn with good browse of willow and alder for you both as long as wish. And hot soup for the rest of us.”

So into the water they all went. The arrangement was this. Knitbone’s sons entered on the left so as to catch the brunt of the current. To their right strode Knitbone and Stargazer with their passengers and to their right entered daintily Soffá and Miljá, with the tired wolfhounds, half bounding, half swimming across as and where they found gaps. 

The centaurs never stumbled and Soffá and Miljá looked like they had forded many a river deeper and wider than this. It took many minutes to cross, and Digory could only wonder at how they could all endure the cold. But out they came, stepping proudly up a gentle gravelly slope, up to an arch of huge shadowy trees and then onto a street up above the bank. Narnian dwarfs stood in a line, holding their mining lanterns on poles to guide their way. Once the party had all passed they followed along behind until they came in sight of a welcome party. Then the dwarves gathered around and held their lamps high and everyone could get a good look at each other. 

In the lamplight was a mixed company of dwarfs, humans, fauns, dryads, a regal Unicorn, a Stag, a Bulldog and several ravens. One of the fauns came forward and gave a little cough. He looked rather chilled and emotional. He was rather grey haired, ruddy skinned and stout. He had tears in his eyes and he fell to his haunches looking up at them hopefully. He wiped his eyes with a pocket handkerchief.

“W-w-w-welcome to Beruna your Graces. We are the Legates of Narnia and we are so extremely glad to see you both. We bid you come into the warmth and shelter of the Legacy Hall. We have fire and food, beds and comfort. Your presence here is the most cheerful thing that has befallen Narnia for more than six seasons. But the Winterfather’s early fall and your arrival here is finally a sign that Aslan is on the move. My name is Tumnus.”

Polly looked over at Digory, tilted her head and gave him a sharp look. “You’re the one practiced with delivering speeches Digory, come on.”


	12. The Market Town Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Polly and Digory settle down for the night and make some contact with some further friends of the four sovereigns.

The Market Town, Part 2  
I must acknowledge rthstewart who introduced us in her stories to Briony, Lambert, Jalur, Merle, Wrasse and the others who formed the personal guard of the four sovereigns. I have taken rthstewart at her word and included some of these characters in this story; although I think it rude to not offer acknowledgement. Thanks Ruth.  
…

Digory

From the imposing back of Knitbone, Digory drew himself up looking down upon the gathered people and creatures, each one studying Polly and himself with bright eyes. He decided that if there was a moment to deliver grandiosity it was probably now. So in his best deepest public speaking voice he intoned:

“This welcome by the Legates of Beruna is most gratefully accepted Mr Tumnus! I, Lord Digory of the Apple and my companion, Lady Polly of the Rings do solemnly declare; may Aslan be our witness, that we two who beheld the Dawn of Time in the company of King Frank and Fledge, the first winged horse, have returned.” 

That caused a stir. A rippling murmur went through the crowd. Some of the dryads and dwarves went down on bended knee at that declaration. Some looked awed, others curious, whilst others looked a little guarded and sceptical. He thought he even saw several of the dryads and humans and one dwarf looking slightly displeased, with frowns quickly replaced by schooled neutral smiles. That was interesting. He wondered if he had imagined it and whether Polly had noticed too.

“Ahem… good people, we shall indeed accept the invitation to come into the warmth of your hall and in time, perhaps on the morrow; it has been a long tiring ride mark you; we shall begin to speak in comfort about the stabilisation of Narnia and the re-establishment of a royal rule. We come bearing proofs of our identities written in the hand of High King Peter himself, although we must confirm the sad news that we do not expect any of the four sovereigns recently departed to ever return… at least in your lifetimes.”

At that, there was a chorus of distressed voices and a few moans. The bulldog threw up its head and gave a low mournful howl. It was joined unexpectedly by several wolves, which had remained unseen on the edge of the lamplight; their piercing descant calls bringing a tear to more than Digory’s eyes. It was clear that even the wolves, who had been favoured by Jadis, were missing their youthful masters and mistresses.

Once the hubbub had quietened, Polly also spoke. “May we also give thanks to Soffá and Miljá here, reindeer released by The Winterfather himself, for the task of bringing us to Beruna and who were relieved several hours ago by Master Knitbone and Master Stargazer. Thank you very much kind friends!”  
The centaurs stood impassively, arms folded across their chests, but Soffá and Miljá tossed their antlers, looking rather pleased with themselves. The admiring gaze of the crowd was now turned to the steeds. “I told you!” Milja was heard to remark to Soffa.

Then Polly and Digory dismounted, with many willing hands to help them down and they all went through the entrance to the great hall. The centaurs, reindeer, dryads, dwarves, wolves, bulldog, and everyone else scuttled, strode or paced pattered in, even down to a few animals which looked like rather large Hedgehogs, Mice and Hares. 

As Digory discovered, it was warmer inside. Being ushered through the doors by Tumnus, they firstly crowded into a large rustic vestibule, which was sealed behind them before the far doors were opened wide. The varied smells of humans and beasts all mingled together was very interesting to say the least. They then trooped into a large hall glowing with a central fire. Its roof beams were held aloft by tall timber pillars curiously carved and the dwarfs’ lanterns were extinguished as several oil lamps attached to the pillars were lit. 

Several tall dryads gathered about the centaurs and took the reindeer’s tack off and began to give them all a good rubdown.  
…

Polly

Tumnus was trembling noticeably as he trotted forward heavily, ushering Polly and Digory to a set of comfortable looking ottomans and high back lounge chairs, with cushions and bolsters and lovely thick rugs scattered about. His trembling was not with cold. When they were finally seated, sipping mugs of hot mulled wine, warming their hands, with others sitting, lounging or standing about soaking up the warmth from the hot coals and flames, Tumnus reached out and grasped Polly’s left hand and Digory’s right, drawing their heads towards his.

“You have no idea how relieved I am to see you two”, he whispered with goatie breath in a quavering voice.  
“I have no doubts at all that you are both who you say you are. The Winterfather’s star falling a whole month early? It is unheard of! But I must be q-q-q-quick and warn you about something. There are others here who will not be so easily convinced or appeased and will want to examine your proofs with greatest rigor. You may even be opposed. Dear oh dear!” 

He held a grubby pocket handkerchief and wiped his big dark tremulous eyes. 

“Since the white stag drew our four sovereigns’ away back to their own world, there has been no end of wrangling. No end! The humans who were left at Cair Paravel such as Peridan and Daimyo tried to fill the gap but the people of Narnia weren’t taking that for long, oh no. Not after the hundred year winter. They wanted the blessings of Aslan or no kings and queens at all. There have been delegations from the house of Frank and Helen from no less than three countries, all claiming the thrones of Narnia. We didn’t know how to sort it out and to make matters worse, they began to fight amongst themselves. There was a fair to-do down at the Cair. We had to board it up and set a guard. The grounds are thick with male holly trees now. The entire Gryphon population has taken up residence in the towers. There has been no sign of Aslan. And if that wasn’t enough, there have been Narnian members of this Legacy and their followers who have said enough is enough and have begun to declare autonomous principalities and republics for their own peoples! Since last year we now have refugees in our own land. Imagine! Talking Hedgehogs, Badgers, Dwarves and Rabbits turfed out of their homes in Southern Narnia because the local Centaurs didn’t want them digging holes there anymore. The fauns who live about Dancing Lawn were seriously going to charge entry fees to the spring festivities because there was not enough food to last them through the winter. Even the Narnian giants who’ve never intentionally hurt a flea began swearing and stamping about. Some even began to speak darkly about inviting their northern cousins to come in and sort everyone out. And to top it all off, some of the dwarves up on Lightning Ridge imprisoned a pair of hags they found living quietly amongst the tors not hurting anyone and began to torture them for information on how they could bring back the White Witch. It has been horrible! We had to rescue the poor hideous creatures. And now they are baying for blood after their horrendous experience. The remnants of the White Witch’s brood are beginning to stir. Myself and Peridan and Daimyo have done everything we can think of to just keep the Legacy onto the task of keeping the trade of Narnia going and making sure that everyone has a place to sleep and enough food in their bellies. That is why we have set ourselves up in the central market place.”

After that startling monologue Tumnus looked at them imploringly and burst into tears. At that moment, one of Polly’s rings began to pulse with warmth and Mr Tumnus noticed. He pulled his and away hastily and stared at their hands with alarm.

“There’s nothing to worry about Mr Tumnus”, she said. “The rings on my hands are a gift of Saint Ni…, never mind, the Winterfather. That was a sign. I think, it was a sign that you have done the right thing and that all will be well. And I rather think…” 

She paused for a moment because she had the most atrocious idea. But on second thought it seemed right somehow. “Why not?” she said under her breath, “In for a penny, in for a pound.” 

Then in out loud she said, “Mr Tumnus, I have an idea. It’s possibly a rather silly one, and I know this isn’t the Arabian Nights, but there is an old story from our world in which a young man called Al’adin was in trouble underground and he was able to rub a magical ring that had been given to him and help came. I hope I am not taking Aslan for granted, but I rather think I should gift you with this ring. It is still pulsing you know.” 

So she slid the ring from her finger and taking Mr Tumnus’s left hand slid the ring onto his left forefinger. It was red copper with a stone of jet, to match his ruddy complexion and slightly greying black pelt.

“I have a feeling that if you ever need to get my attention, you should rub this ring and think of me.”  
…

Digory

Tumnus gulped and stared at the ring in awe. It was then that Digory remembered the red scarf that Mrs Beaver had begged him to deliver, so he dug it out and gave it to Mr Tumnus. That made Mr Tumnus weep quietly, hugging the scarf to himself, so still holding his hand, Digory found this moment to look up and observe what else was going on. Apart from those giving or getting a rubdown the entire room was looking towards them curiously. But what was most startling was the close presence of two wolves who were gazing at Polly and Digory with unblinking eyes. They must have crept up silently whilst Polly and Digory were otherwise engaged. 

Looking away immediately, one said softly “Like and yet unlike” out the side of its mouth. It was a throaty female voice which spoke. The she-wolf stepped forward hesitantly into the clearer light and sniffed Polly’s booted leg. Polly resisted flinching. 

“Caution Briony my love” said the other with a deeper voice. “She may not have had a friendly wolf sniffing at her leg before. Remember when…”  
But the she wolf whose name seemed to be Briony just whuffed at her partner and immediately curled up in front of Polly over her toes and laying her head on her paws, looked out at the astonished audience and towards the fire, for all the world as if she was saying “Trouble this lady at your peril, she is mine”. 

Polly and Digory looked down. She was brindled grey fur with light brown tips and creamy underparts.

Polly, possibly realising she had been honoured, and now feeling a little warmer, was now able to slip off the fur coat and drape it back over the arm chair on which she sat. Digory followed suit and looking at the he-wolf which still stood by, studiously avoiding staring at him now with just the occasional spasmodic glance, he said,  
The he-wolf dipped his head, came forward with great delicacy and said quietly, “By your leave Master Tumnus?” 

Tumnus nodded vigorously, seeming to be relieved he was not the only one providing an anchor for these two who were the consolation prize in the long search for the lost sovereigns.

Digory sipped the delicious mulled wine and cleared his throat. “Master Wolf, your studied interest intrigues me. May I have the pleasure of your acquaintance? You may call me Lord Digory if you wish.”

“Of course Lord Digory. My name is Lambert. I was once the personal guard of Queen Susan the Gentle. We have been long afraid that we failed in our duty. All we have left of her are her horn and her bow and quiver you see… and her crown of course. My den-partner Briony had the same function with Queen Lucy. We are determined to not repeat past mistakes. By the great Lion.”

Digory looked at the he-wolf with some sympathy, but he could not help sighing to himself. He and Polly had not slept for the last 26 hours, had experienced a change of life and circumstance and been regaled by numerous creatures of the lost sovereign’s acquaintance and carted across snowy country on two sets of steeds for the last ten of these. Dealing at this time of night with the guilt and grief of a press of people and animals was not what he had had in mind. He could see others hovering. He rather needed rest and sleep at this moment. 

Lambert noticed his sigh and watching Digory’s shoulders slumping he responded with a slight whine. “My apologies Lord. I am speaking too soon. I am sure there will be time for this later. Please excuse me. I shall take my place here and keep watch. Just be aware of one thing. There are currents running through this room of which you will have little awareness at this point. If you feel the need to sleep, I will be your eyes and ears and will still be here when you awaken. 

Digory glanced at Polly. Her eyes were already drooping but she nodded at Digory encouragingly. Tumnus also looked relieved as well and in a short while the murmur of voices and the warmth of the fire and the spiced wine sent them curling up in their furs on the great arm chairs into blissful sleep.


	13. The Woolly Mullein

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Digory and Polly awaken in the early hours and later prepare for the demands of their day including meeting Peridan.

The Woolly Mullein

…

Digory

The warmth of the room, the big pit of glowing coals, the odour of many creatures together and the hot spiced wine went to their cores and both Polly and Digory slept soundly sometime into the early hours.

Well before the winter dawn, Digory and Polly both stirred, needing to relieve themselves. So they had to disturb the wolf guards who had been lying across their feet keeping them warm. To their relief, the wolves summoned dwarves from their own slumber around the glowing fire, who, grabbing lanterns, guided them across to the rear of the hall and down a short corridor into curtained off rooms. There were chamber pots, thankfully with lids, arrayed on shelves and at floor level along with several trays with deep litter and there was plenty of sawdust about. As Digory needed the full catastrophe, he was rather relieved when the dwarf who had accompanied him bowed out the door leaving the lantern and Digory alone.

He looked about and found that there were hooks at different heights upon which to hang clothes, of which he made good use. He looked about for toilet paper and found none. Instead, he found a bowl of large downy leaves. Taking a closer look, he decided it must be Woolly Mullein, if he was any botanist, somehow kept soft and flexible for winter use. He found was rather glad to be youthful all over again. It had been rather a few years since he had answered the call of nature whilst camping in the Lakes District and the prolonged squat was something that would never have agreed with his aging body. Once done though, he still heaved several sighs of relief and he washed his hands with a little mashed soapwort and fine sand before rinsing. Feeling chilly, he redressed and found himself hoping he might find a change of clothes and a nightgown at some point in the following day as he jumped and shrugged a little to get warm again.

It was only after he had finished, he heard the rustle of company and realised that he had not been alone after all. To his embarrassment a small spotted cat which had blended seamlessly into one of the deep trays of leaf and twig litter was completing its own ablutions, scratching sawdust and pine needles behind itself before turning around and having a sniff. It then eyed him with it's rich green eyes in the way that only cats can. "It does feel ever so much better, does it not, my lord?" it mewed.

"Oh, well, er… yes, ahem,… I suppose it does, indeed," he managed to get out.

"Yes, the joys of a good crap. Glad to know you're one of us then. I can make my report now, then I'm now off for my pre-dawn hunt. Catch a few shrews and voles if I have any luck. I'll bring you one back if you like, Toodaloo!" But it did not wait for an answer and scooted through the curtain, tail held high and disappeared.

Digory wondered if it spoke truth and why, if it was going outside, it had bothered using this facility at all. Then it dawned on him. It had probably wanted to observe him. "Glad to see you're one of us then"? Did it want to know if he could be trusted… if he was… fully human?

He eyed his riding gear with anxiety, not wishing to get back in it again. Besides being much less comfortable after a day of constant wear, it still smelled of mothballs. He found he was quite relieved when the dwarf came back carrying a bundle of something that looked much more loose and comfortable, although it smelled somewhat goaty.

…

Polly

Polly had a similar experience with an enormous female hedgehog which she had mistaken in the dim light for a boot cleaning device and was both taken aback and relieved to know that she had been deemed fully human. Upon reflection she had to wonder how else any half-human person was meant to answer the call of nature but decided that this might just have to remain an unsavoury… and thus unsolved mystery. But she also found the woolly mullein and was mighty glad that the Narnians had found a way to keep it so soft and flexible over the winter months.

Polly also realised that she had come to find the riding habit rather an encumbrance as she tried to move about and shed clothing for decorous ablutions. The riding habit had also been snug and warm for riding, but to tell the truth was constricting and definitely not the garb for sleeping in if she could help it. The dryad who helped her into and out of it looked utterly comfortable in very little but Polly knew that she would need slightly more covering to keep warm. Polly could not help sighing a little in sorry anticipation of squeezing back into the stiff habit but then realised that the only thing to do was to ask. Which she did. And within only a few chilly minutes, she found herself enveloped in soft thick pantaloons, a snug downy vest, and some soft buckskin boots lined with finest wool socks, all covered by a thick loose gown which went to her toes that had a lovely fur collar. As she settled in to her large chair again, now a lot more comfortable, she slipped off to sleep again knowing that no matter what happened next, it could only get more interesting.

…

Polly was dreaming of reindeer thundering about in wardrobes with mirrors and the feverish work back at Bletchley Park on code wheels being conducted by gigantic hedgehogs wearing sparkling rings, when she woke with a start with the sound of airs raid sirens in her head. But when she awoke it was silent. It was the warm pressure on her left thigh which had done it. She almost jumped out of her skin as she opened her eyes, for looking directly into them were the enormous yellow eyes of a she-wolf. It was Briony, resting her head and gazing at her.

"I beg your pardon your grace, I told them that they should wait but the morning is getting on and they're all expecting you to come to the Council of Legates."

"Oh, yes, of course Briony, now, umm…" Polly looked about nervously, combing her hair roughly with her fingers. The hall was still cosy and a few lanterns still shone, but she could see the light of day beaming coldly in through some high louvres that let out the smoke. As she jumped up to gather herself, she saw that there were very few people or beasts about, apart from a pair of fauns sifting ash and throwing the coals back into the hot part of the fire. And then she noticed a set of antlers and realised that Sofja also stood nearby watching patiently. Digory was nowhere to be seen and neither were Miljá or Lambert. That was a little bothersome, but she supposed they were both with Digory, as Briony and Sofja were both with her.

"And good morning to you Soffá! I am glad you have stayed. When does it start?" she asked turning to Briony.

"It is to start in about half an hour."

"Oh dear, well, I shall need to wash my face, if nothing else. Where is it to be then?"

At that moment, two humans strode through a side door into the hearth hall. It was Digory and a man that Polly had not yet met.

"Oh Polly! I am glad you're awake. Sorry I didn't wake you earlier. But Briony here seems to be a very good judge of what's needed when she sees someone asleep. She advised me to let you continue. Said you were dreaming and that you needed to finish your dream first."

Polly turned to Briony. "Well thank you ever so much Briony. Indeed I was having a dream. Funny though, it was the most awful jumble. I must say, I am rather glad I finally woke from it. You could have woken me earlier, truly."

"As you wish your grace", murmured Briony, who had clearly not shifted her opinion on the matter at all. Polly realised this one would be no pushover.

"And this is Lord Peridan", went on Digory, oblivious. "We've been having a close conversation with Tumnus for the last hour. He's caught me up with some of what's been happening since the four came back to my house."

Polly turned to the tall vigorous man who was dressed in a peculiar blend of medieval hosen and the clobber of a 20th Century rugger enthusiast. He was in dark brown leggings with tall boots, a snug russet coloured shirt and a long knitted, belted jersey in black wool that came down nearly to his knees, with a russet rampant lion knitted into the front. Round his neck was a twisted scarf striped in russet and black, trimmed with fur. On his head was a black knitted hat with a russet pompon. His long dark hair was caught in a loose plait in front of his right shoulder, held with a few bands of copper. He looked about 35 years old and a little weather-beaten.

"Lady Polly of the Rings. Delighted to meet you at last."

He bowed low when he saw Polly and taking her hand, kissed her delicately on the knuckle, his amber eyes noting her rather over-adorned hand.

"Likewise Lord Peridan", said Polly, doing a slight bob in spite of herself.

He continued, "Briony did so insist on you completing your sleep. I hope it has done you great good. I did not come in until after your arrival and slumber, so I missed introductions then."

"Well, we were rather tired. It all went in such a blur, I may not have remembered anyway, if you excuse me." She hesitated. "But now you are here Lord Peridan, would you be so kind as to help me understand something. A Lord of Narnia you are I assume?"

He nodded, gazing at Polly levelly.

"Peter and the others told us that there were no other humans in Narnia upon their arrival, aristocratic or otherwise; their presence by entering magically through the wardrobe, broke a spell. Pray tell, where do you fit in? And why are you not King Peridan if you are a Lord?" asked Polly.

"Indeed, Lady Polly, you may well ask", said Peridan. "Firstly I come in part from the Archen Royal Line, being King Lune's second cousin twice removed. It was he who implored me to serve Narnia and the High King Peter when the White Witch's abominable reign was ended. I was made Herald and later War General. I retain the latter role. But I also come from the line of the Counts of the Southern Vales, a small but old Narnian family which was all but decimated by Jadis as she locked the borders with ice. Lucky it was that my three times grandmother, Countess Agnis, was a'wintering in Armouthe, the small city at the mouth of the Winding Arrow in Archenland, when the Witch swept through the valley of Narnia, else she too would have perished and my grandfather would not have been born. Jadis began at Cair Paravel and worked outwards we are told. The Countess's direct connection to the throne of Narnia was three generations further back. There are now few sons of Adam or daughters of Eve of full Narnian blood left anywhere now we deem, let alone royal."

Polly thought of the evacuees and prisoners of Eastern and now Western Europe, caught in the jaws of horror and wondered if anywhere in the known universe could ever be free of abominable things being done by one people to another.

"Thank you Peridan, that was most enlightening. I do hope you don't mind if I drop the Lord and Lady bit? It's not quite my style I'm afraid. Can we be considered equals in our conversations together?"

Peridan shrugged and grinned ruefully. "Certainly, it can become a little stilted and wearing can it not?" he agreed. "It has always been noted that Narnian Royalty has tended to not stand on too much ceremony, especially between the rulers and the ruled."

"Why is that?" asked Digory, curious to understand more about how Narnian culture and society had evolved over time.

"I deem it comes of this land being inhabited largely by talking beasts and magical creatures. They tend to be uninterested in such matters. Oh, there are exceptions of course, but most tend to be more interested in knowing that the Kings and Queens will be first in their defence and last in the retreat."

He sighed, "I can hardly blame them. The rulers of neighbouring Telmar and Calormen and the great lands to the South, do tend to look upon the Talking Beasts, the Centaurs, the Gryphons, Fauns, Wood-Women and suchlike as cause for sabre-rattling. For myself, I have never understood this antagonism, for being raised in Archenland which has harboured and honoured Narnians of all descriptions for generations, I have always esteemed the goodliness of all the creatures of Aslan great and small who walk these lands."

He bit his lip slightly looking thoughtful, then said "And I have even known a werewolf and a hag or two, who have proven honourable if given the chance, not to mention a certain young man you both know who was able to mend his ways when given the love and sacrifice of another."

"King Edmund you mean?" asked Digory.

Peridan tipped his head forward once in a slow decisive nod, a mournful tight-lipped look on his face. Then he said, "As you say Lord Digory. We all had much to learn from him. I would have you both know, his virtue was that he dispensed justice with greatest compassion and verisimilitude. He had a knack for cross-examining even the brood of the White Witch in ways which left the rest of us in awe and his sentences proved again and again to be fitting and to produce results. It was rare for him to ever lose his temper, although he could be icy in his regard for wanton, wilful evil. He set a high standard indeed. And on that note, may I add, despite Narnia's reputed informality, in the formal councils, and in during these uncertain times, I find it wise to maintain the forms. It can help contain the mood. And having the two of you here with your titles as given is not something I would wish you to toss aside. There will be a reason for it. High King Peter knew what he was doing, mark me. So, Lord Digory and Lady Polly, shall we move to the Council room once you have had a quick refreshment?

"Of course Lord Peridan", said Polly, "But there is one last thing that's been eating me since I knew about any of this. I would like to know more about it before we go into this Council. Excuse me for asking, and pray do not feel it is your duty to answer me this very minute, but I am baffled about something. Why did you and a group of other good humans of Narnian stock, not simply sit on the four thrones and declare yourselves?

Peridan looked pained.

"That is a moot point and a sore one, if it please you Lady Polly. We have been awaiting a sign from Aslan. And because there are too many claimants. To tell the truth, the four sovereigns being siblings and unrelated to anyone in nearby lands meant that the renewal of Narnia under Aslan's guidance could proceed after the White Witch's domination, with simplicity. And because of their youth, the complicated matters of succession did not have to be seriously considered for many a year. In the past, the twin thrones of King and Queen were enough. But when the four thrones appeared magically at the beginning of Jadis's reign when the prophecy was spoken and she found she was unable to regain entry to the Cair, the only place in all Narnia barred to her I might add, it was clear that the four thrones mean something most powerful. And they have remained. They have not disappeared. So there is thus a need to find four new people to fill the thrones. That is self-evident. But who they are to be, how they are to be related to one another… or not… and how the succession in future should be decided… it is that which has eluded us. The efforts of the Legacy have been rather spent in keeping the wheels of food and shelter, trade and justice, diplomacy and defence moving. It is my sincere hope that whilst the legacy keeps those functions, that it is you two who will help us work out how to fill the thrones."

Polly and Digory looked at each other relieved. At least they were not being asked to fill them themselves.

…

Digory

At that moment, the antlers of Soffá and Miljá intruded themselves.

"If you please Lord Digory and Lady Polly, a word if we might be so bold", said Soffá softly.

"We've been talking it over. We've been picking up the gossip about how things lie here. We think you are in for rather a stiff Council meeting. Miljá and I both think it might be useful for us to take you on a ride away from here to clear your thoughts once it's finished. Out in the fresh air so to speak."

Miljá piped up, all enthusiasm, "And Lambert and Briony say they are quite happy to come along to keep an eye on you! Wolves are quite good at keeping up with caribou you might know. It's in their blood so to speak. Lucky they are talking beasts and know how to behave themselves." Digory could have sworn she winked as she said this.

"Anyway", went on Soffá, "we are not from round these parts, indeed we're not from Narnia at all, so we have no particular concern about what you need to speak about amongst yourselves, if you need to." She gazed at them steadily, as if daring them to decline the offer.

Digory stared back thoughtfully. "Ah, hmm, indeed, that may indeed be an excellent suggestion." He looked at Polly who just shrugged. "I suppose it really depends on how long we end up meeting for. Perhaps we will let you know once the Council goes into recess. I am sure we will have a recess at some point. So thank you very much. We shall keep you posted about your kind offer."

…


End file.
